A Forgotten Shadow, page 7
“I don’t know—some psycho who should have been locked up or kids messing around.” Eastwold yawned widely before taking a large slug of whisky.
“Do you have children yourself, Lord Eastwold?” asked Jimmy, looking up from his note taking.
“Yes, twin boys. Eight years old. It’s been good to get away from them for some peace and quiet. Thank God the little buggers are going to prep school in September,” he replied before throwing the last of his drink down his throat. Shadow didn’t think they were going to find out anything more useful from His Lordship, so he thanked him for his time and decided to move on to another witness.
Lady Eastwold arrived next. Lavinia was about ten years older than her sister the duchess. She had long light brown hair, a large wide mouth and was wearing a long floaty, floral-print dress that she was both too short and too plump to carry off. She was certainly more loquacious but no more helpful than her husband.
“The shooting here at Kirkdale is always wonderful and Bertie is such a good host. I can’t wait until my boys are old enough to join us. Bertie is also a very generous uncle,” she gushed, arranging herself in the seat recently vacated by Lord Eastwold.
“Am I correct in thinking he doesn’t have any children of his own?” asked Shadow.
“No. Thankfully there’s at least one area where I’ve succeeded, and Annabel has failed. As Bertie said, ‘Good girl, Lavinia, right first time. An heir and a spare!’” Lavinia giggled self-consciously. “Although, I suppose the fault probably does lie with him. Sybil is convinced the scarlet fever he had as a child damaged his heart and, well, other things, so no babies for Annabel. Poor thing.”
As Lady Eastwold sat there with a smug smile, Shadow wondered if she knew her husband was less than enthusiastic about their offspring.
“Your children are eight years old, but your sister only married the duke about a year ago?” asked Jimmy looking up from his notes. “Does that mean you knew him before your sister met him?”
Lavinia laughed as if the sergeant had just told the most brilliant joke.
“Of course! I’ve known Bertie for yonks! He and Piers have been best friends forever. In fact, we were the ones who introduced Bertie and Annabel, not that she’s ever thanked me. I have quite the gift when it comes to bringing people together.”
Jimmy dutifully noted all this down and Shadow was about to ask another question when she began to twitter again.
“I don’t know why you are wasting our time with this Flynn business. It must have been a horrible accident and if it wasn’t, then we’ve already told you nobody saw a thing. If I were you, I’d go and speak to Plum, Bertie’s sister. She was always arguing with Flynn. Personally, I think she’s probably frustrated.”
“She married a second cousin, I believe,” said Shadow thinking back to what he’d read in Debrett’s during the drive to Kirkdale.
“That’s right Sir Peter DeVere, so at least she got to keep her name. They were teenage sweethearts and both equally insufferable. Trotting around Africa or South America on some do-gooding cause or other. Then he went and died not long after Seb was born.”
“Oh, that’s really sad,” commented Jimmy.
“Not really, Sergeant,” replied Lavinia briskly. “He was only a baronet. Plum could have done much better.”
*
Sir Charles was the last to arrive for his interview. A widower of about sixty, he had represented his constituency for over twenty years after a successful career in the city. He was a member of the Home Office Select Committee and a vocal supporter of the police. A dapper dresser who wore his thick grey hair in an immaculate quiff, he was a favourite of the Westminster sketch writers. He shook hands with both of the detectives, before taking a seat when he was invited.
“Well, this is a nasty business, gentlemen. I liked Flynn very much. Such a waste of a life.” He paused and looked up. “How can I help you?” he asked.
“Can you describe the events leading up to the discovery of Mr FitzAllan’s body yesterday?” asked Shadow, hoping the MP’s response to this enquiry would be more helpful than the Eastwolds’.
“Certainly,” began Sir Charles, clearing his throat. “We all met here in the breakfast room at half past nine. The Eastwolds and I had spent the previous evening here. The three of us were here last night too. Flynn was the last to arrive, then we all headed up to the moor.”
“So that was you, Mr FitzAllan, the duke and Lord and Lady Eastwold all in the same car?” asked Shadow.
“No, Lady Eastwold drove up alone a little later—I believe she had something she wanted to discuss with Annabel first—but the rest of us were in the duke’s car. Bertie was driving.”
“And how was everyone?”
Sir Charles shrugged.
“Fine, I think. We chatted about shooting and the racing of course.”
“Mr FitzAllan didn’t seem preoccupied or worried?”
“Not at all, he was his usual relaxed, easy-going self. He certainly did better than the rest of us put together on the first drive.”
“Did you know Mr FitzAllan well? I understand you and the duke are both on the board of directors at York racecourse.”
“That’s correct. I wouldn’t say Flynn and I were particularly close, but our paths have crossed fairly regularly over the last ten years or so.”
“Is it true that he had dinner at your house a few weeks ago following a race meeting at Ripon?”
Sir Charles’s brow furrowed, and he shook his head. “No, I’m sorry, Chief Inspector. I don’t you know where you got that information from, but it’s not true. I haven’t entertained at home in any way, shape or form since I lost my wife five years ago. Naturally, I still like to socialise and repay the hospitality I have been lucky enough to receive, so a few times a year I host a dinner at my club in London, but I don’t recall Flynn ever attending.”
“Then we must have been mistaken,” replied Shadow easily. “Going back to yesterday, you broke for lunch at about twelve thirty?”
“Yes, Lavinia—Lady Eastwold—had joined us by then. There was a table set up in the old chapel with a buffet: sandwiches, salads, that sort of thing. Then as we were leaving, Flynn said he needed to make a call. He walked over to the copse. He said the signal was better there.”
“Did he say who he was calling?”
“No, I assumed it was the yard or Siobhan, but he didn’t say.”
“Do you know if he was responding to a missed call or a text message?” asked Shadow, silently cursing forensics. This line of questioning would be a lot easier if they had provided all the information from the burner phone.
“Again, he didn’t say, but I did see him scrolling through his phone while we were at lunch, as was I, I might add. The signal up on the moor is terrible, so I missed quite a few calls.”
“Did he look angry or upset at all?”
Sir Charles was silent for few seconds. “Now you come to mention it, I’d say he looked confused. That’s how I’d describe his expression: puzzled or confused.”
Shadow nodded thoughtfully. “I see and what happened after lunch?”
“We began the second drive without him. Then when he hadn’t returned after about twenty minutes, Bertie spoke to his gamekeeper and he sent one of the loaders to look for him. We waited about five minutes, then the young man came running back and told us he’d found Flynn. As soon as we heard that we all dashed over and it was clear there was no point calling for medical assistance, so someone phoned you chaps.”
“I understand the gun Mr FitzAllan was using, the Lumley, was quite special. A rare and valuable antique.”
“Yes. Xander, Bertie’s father, left it to Flynn in his will.”
“Did anyone think that was unusual?” queried Shadow with a frown.
“No, not especially. Flynn wasn’t only a gifted horseman, he was also an excellent shot and Xander had known him since his time in Ireland. In fact, I think he even paid for Flynn’s tuition at university.”
“Really?” asked Shadow. This was the first time he’d heard that Flynn was connected to the late duke in any way other than training his racehorses.
“So I understand, although I’m not sure if it was a general scholarship in the DeVere name or a more personal arrangement.”
“Didn’t the current duke mind his father leaving such a valuable gun to an outsider?” asked Jimmy, looking up again from his note taking. Shadow raised his eyes to the ceiling. Would he ever get through an entire interview without Jimmy interrupting?
“You will have to ask Bertie how he felt, Sergeant,” replied Sir Charles, “but I can’t imagine he would care too much. He inherited quite a collection of guns without the Lumley and then there’s the pair of Purdeys his father bought him when he turned eighteen. Lucky sod! My father didn’t even buy me a pint for my eighteenth.”
“We’ll have to talk to the duke another time, unfortunately,” said Shadow before Jimmy could start asking another question. “We were told that he’s indisposed this morning.”
“Indisposed?” Sir Charles grinned again. “That’s a new one on me!” Then registering the puzzles looks to the detectives’ faces: “Bertie rather overdid it at the party last night. I expect he’s busy knocking back aspirin and Alka-Seltzers before we head off to the races this afternoon. We are due to leave in a couple of hours.”
“Then we won’t keep you any longer,” replied Shadow holding out his hand to the MP. “Thank you for your time, Sir Charles.”
“Not at all. Good luck with the investigation, Chief Inspector.”
He stood up and was almost at the door when Shadow remembered something.
“Oh, one more thing, Sir Charles. The police at the gates, who requested them?”
“I did, Chief Inspector, for Annabel’s sake more than anything. The press are always hounding her even though she’s given up modelling. You know what the tabloids are like. This business is bound to make it worse. She shouldn’t be made to feel under threat in her own home. I asked for a couple of officers to go to Siobhan’s too. I’m sure she doesn’t need the extra hassle either.”
“I see. Thank you again, Sir Charles,” replied Shadow.
“Why did you ask him that?” asked Jimmy as soon as Sir Charles had left the library. “The chief constable told you it was him who asked for someone to keep the press out.”
“I know, but I wanted to see what he would say,” said Shadow as he opened the curtain Eastwold had closed. “I thought it was interesting the request came from him and not the duke.”
Sir Charles was followed by the seven members of staff who worked permanently in the castle including Jarvis the butler. All told a similar story. The shooting party including Mr FitzAllan had met in the morning room and then left for the shoot. Lady Eastwold had remained behind talking to the duchess for about half an hour before leaving too. The duchess was at home all day but spent several hours alone in her rooms. The whole party returned early after what all the staff referred to as the shooting incident.
When Shadow and Jimmy finally stepped out of the library, they saw Annabel walking down the long corridor towards them. Already dressed for the race meeting, she was wearing an elegant pale pink suit and matching hat. Shadow was sure it was very fashionable, but it did rather look like a flying saucer had landed on her head.
“Good morning,” he said politely, but she didn’t acknowledge him as she glided by. “I don’t believe you told us where you were yesterday afternoon,” Shadow continued.
Annabel paused, but only half turned her head. “I was here preparing for the party.”
“Your staff mentioned you were alone and unseen for several hours?”
“The servants are here to serve not spy on me,” she replied coolly before continuing on her way.
“Was Mr FitzAllan invited to the party?” Shadow called after her, but he received no response.
“Maybe she’s hungover too,” whispered Jimmy.
“Ha!” A voice behind them gave a sharp laugh, causing both detectives to spin round in surprise.
Lavinia was perched on a gilt chair in the hall, flicking through one of the glossy magazines that were artistically arranged on a low leather stool. She gave them a tight smile.
“Annabel doesn’t drink, gentlemen! Think of the calories!”
“Ah, Lady Eastwold, I understand you stayed behind to speak with the duchess, before joining the rest of the shooting party. May I ask what you discussed?” asked Shadow.
“It was just a girly chat between sisters, Chief Inspector,” Lavinia replied with a simper.
*
When they finally stepped outside Jimmy exhaled loudly as they walked back to their car.
“Wow, Chief! The Eastwolds are both awful. How do the duke and duchess put up with them?”
“They are family. I suppose they have to,” replied Shadow with a shrug.
“Sir Charles seemed okay,” continued Jimmy as they climbed back into the car. “I was surprised he wants to hang around with the Eastwolds and the DeVeres.”
“People like being associated with titles and don’t forget Sir Charles is a politician. The duke, although arguably not the sharpest knife if the drawer, gets to sit in the House of Lords thanks to our hereditary upper chamber. While Sir Charles sits in the Commons, perhaps he finds an association with the duke useful.”
“That sounds a bit mercenary. I don’t think I’d last long in politics.”
“No, Sergeant, neither do I.”
“And the duchess. I don’t get it. She’s got everything. Beauty, money, a title—she even lives in a massive castle, but she seems really miserable. And I don’t think her sister likes her much either.”
“Then maybe psychology isn’t your strong point either. Jealousy can be a dangerous emotion.”
“How do you mean, Chief?”
“Never mind. The more pressing question is who’s lying: Clancy, Flynn or Sir Charles?”
“Chief?”
“About the dinner, Sergeant, that according to Sir Charles didn’t take place. Is he lying to us, did Clancy lie, or did Flynn lie to her?”
“I don’t think it’s Clancy. It must be Flynn. We already know he told Maggie a different story about how he spilt wine on himself. Do you really think it’s important?”
“Maybe or maybe not. I just don’t like loose ends.”
They drove down the long driveway. Thankfully the press seemed to have disappeared, but the two constables were still waiting dutifully. Before they pulled through the huge wrought-iron gates, Shadow turned to Jimmy.
“Stop here and let me out, will you?”
“Why, Chief?”
“It’s your lucky day, I want you to put on the siren and do your best Lewis Hamilton impression. Let me know the shortest time possible to drive from here to the Lucky Horseshoe.”
“Do you think someone staying at the castle killed O’Doyle?”
“I don’t know, but at the moment the four who were shooting with FitzAllan were also here when O’Doyle died. The same people are giving an alibi to each other. If we are linking O’Doyle’s and FitzAllan’s deaths, then I want to know if any of them could have got to York in time to hit him. Could one of them have sneaked out and not have been missed for an hour or so? It sounds like a fair amount of alcohol was consumed, so memories might be hazy.”
“Then surely we can discount the duke and Eastwold,” interrupted Jimmy. “It sounds like they were both plastered.”
Shadow shook his head. “No, we don’t have any proof of that, only what we’ve been told. We didn’t even get to speak to the duke. Now, admittedly, anyone leaving here wouldn’t be in a police car, but the roads would be quiet that time of night. I want to know how quickly they could have got there and back. Then when you get to the Lucky Horseshoe, go and speak to the landlord. I know uniform took a statement last night, but make sure they didn’t miss anything.”
Chapter Five
Down 1. An infidelity when Fiona and Anthony are seen at the fair (6 letters)
Shadow stepped out of the car and watched as his sergeant sped off with wheels spinning, gravel flying, and a huge grin on his face. Then he walked the few paces back to the door of the gatehouse with the lace curtains and knocked. He had a few seconds to notice the neatly planted vegetable garden before the door was opened by Bill, the elderly man with ruddy cheeks and a neatly trimmed beard who had greeted Shadow and Sybil yesterday near the greenhouses.
“Good morning. My name is Chief Inspector Shadow. May I come in?”
“Bill Greenwood,” the man replied, shaking Shadow’s outstretched hand, before moving to one side. “You look just like your dad, and your granddad for that matter.”
Shadow stepped through the door into a small but cosy room that doubled as both a kitchen and a sitting room. There was a well-scrubbed pine table and an old-fashioned wood-burning range that acted as both stove and heater, making the place almost uncomfortably warm on such a hot day. In the corner there was a door that Shadow assumed led to the bedroom. Bill gestured to one of the faded striped sofas and Shadow sat down.
“If you can remember them both then you must have worked on the estate for a long time,” he said.
“I was gamekeeper here for forty years, before my son took over. Now I help out in the castle gardens, more as a hobby than anything else,” explained the older man as he went to open one of the small leaded light windows, which let in a welcome breeze. “I was here the night your dad was killed. Just in those woods over there.” He pointed to the woodland that began a few yards from his house and separated the castle from the village.
“Was it you who saw the poachers and called him out?”
Bill shook his head. “No that was Edna my wife. She thought she saw a light in the woods. I was out checking some pheasant chicks on the other side of the estate and she couldn’t find me. We didn’t have mobile phones in those days of course, so instead of waiting, she phoned the police house. That was Edna though, always had to get involved. Your father came straight out, and well, you know the rest.”
