A Forgotten Shadow, page 9
“How long?” asked Shadow by way of a welcome.
“Thirty minutes there. I got held up in race traffic even with the siren on, but on the way back my foot was down flat all the way, and I did it in twenty-three minutes exactly, Chief.”
“So, if you added ten minutes for dealing with Aidan, that would mean whoever it was would be away for an hour.” He spread a thick layer of butter on a bread roll as he considered this new information for a moment, then shook his head. “I can’t see it. Surely they would have been missed,” said Shadow half to himself.
“Maybe they had someone covering for them. You know if anybody asked where’s so and so, they’d say: oh he’s just popped to the loo or stepped outside for a moment.”
“Yes, thank you I understand the concept of covering for someone, Sergeant. Did you find anything out at the Lucky Horseshoe?”
“I showed the landlord a photo of Aidan. He remembered him even though the place was packed with other stable lads and grooms. He said Aidan sat alone all night. The news about Flynn had shocked everyone. Quite a few people went over to offer their condolences, but he didn’t want to talk about it. To quote the landlord, ‘If anyone was drowning their sorrows it was him.’”
“It sounds like he was more upset by Flynn’s death than anyone. Bet told me the two of them were close.”
“He left at about ten thirty. Everyone else stayed until closing time and by that time Aidan was dead.”
“So, the place was packed, but nobody saw anything?”
“It doesn’t sound like it. Sorry, Chief. Uniform have put up some notices asking for information around the stable area of the racecourse and when I left, they were doing another sweep of the area. They are still trying to find the weapon used to hit Aidan. Oh, that reminds me,” said Jimmy suddenly taking his mobile out of his pocket, “Tom left a message while I was driving. He spoke to the Garda. Aidan’s brother is in Cork, but he hasn’t seen him for over twenty years. Apparently, he left Ireland in a hurry back in the nineties and hasn’t been back since.”
“That fits with what I’ve just heard too,” replied Shadow, before briefly repeating the information from Bet for the benefit of his sergeant’s notes.
“I suppose it’s too much to hope that forensics have been back in touch?” asked Shadow, as Jimmy closed his electronic notebook.
“No sorry, Chief, I tried calling them both but neither of them were answering.”
Shadow shook his head and grunted while Jimmy took a sip of his water and nodded at the map.
“What’s that for?”
“I was measuring the distance from Kirkdale to York. On the roads it’s about twenty miles?” Jimmy nodded. “But as the crow flies it’s about twelve or thirteen.”
“To go over the fields you mean? That would take forever.”
“Not if you were on a horse, a horse that’s used to competing in endurance or cross-country.”
Jimmy frowned until he realised what Shadow was implying. “Like Siobhan on Parnell?”
“Possibly. She doesn’t have much of an alibi, and it sounds like she and Aidan didn’t get on. Use that phone of yours and find out how fast an endurance horse could go cross-country?”
Jimmy removed his phone from his pocket and began clicking away. A few seconds later he looked up.
“Six or seven miles an hour, so she could have got back to York in a couple of hours. Time wise it would fit in, but would she be able to find her way? It would be getting dark by then.”
Shadow wouldn’t put anything past Mrs FitzAllan, but for now all he said was, “Well, it’s something to think about. Let’s make a move before our hostess comes back.”
“Where to next, Chief?”
“I’ve asked Greenwood the gamekeeper to meet us up on the moor later this afternoon, but first let’s pay the duke’s sister a visit. Lady Eastwold, Bet and Siobhan all made a point of mentioning her to us.”
*
On the way, Shadow flicked through his copy of Debrett’s. He wanted to have the DeVere family dynamics clear in his head before another interview with a member of the clan. Lady Victoria DeVere lived on Bluebell Farm, about half a mile out of the village. It was a long, low white building with one of the few thatched roofs in the area. There was a courtyard with barns and stables and neatly fenced paddocks with an assortment of animals including donkeys, goats, sheep, chickens and even a couple of llamas strolling around in the sun. Bird feeders and nesting boxes were attached to almost every tree and much to Jimmy’s delight, a squirrel scampered along the top of one of the fences.
When they stepped out of the car, a woman appeared from one of the stables. She was wearing cut-off denim jeans, flip-flops, and an old, checked shirt. Her long light brown hair was held back from her make-up-free face by a pink plastic hair clip. Her right hand was heavily bandaged. Shadow guessed she was in her early forties.
“Lady Victoria DeVere?” he asked, a little uncertainly. She looked a world away from Annabel and Lavinia, but the woman smiled and nodded, so he continued, “I’m Chief Inspector Shadow and this is Sergeant Chang,” but before he could explain why they were there, Lady Victoria waved her good hand at him.
“Oh, just call me Plum; everybody does. Sorry I can’t shake hands. I was late feeding Monty the other day and he took exception and decided to chomp on me instead.” She waved towards a grumpy-looking billy goat glaring at them from the paddock. “I thought I’d be seeing you. Is it about poor old Flynn? Terrible business. I rather liked him, and he was very sexy. Gosh those eyes, that smile, and the accent alone was enough to make you go weak at the knees. He certainly shook the village up when he arrived. Of course, he and I didn’t see eye to eye on everything, what with his line of business, but still, I’ll miss him. And now I hear one of his grooms is dead too! Look, I’m sure you have lots to ask me, but it’s terribly hot out here in the sun. Let’s go to the Badger. We can have a sit-down and I can get you a cool drink.”
Without waiting for a reply, she strode off across the courtyard. Shadow turned to Jimmy with a shrug and the two detectives obediently followed her. The Badger turned out to be the Tipsy Badger, a pub Plum had created in one of the old barns, complete with a hand-painted pub sign of a badger wearing a tiara and holding a glass of champagne. Inside beneath the exposed rafters was a fully functioning bar, with beer pumps, optics for the spirits and a fridge crammed full of champagne. Old oak wine barrels acted as tables, with stools set round them. There was even an old-fashioned jukebox in one corner.
“Welcome to the Tipsy Badger, my party room. Now what can I get you gentlemen?” asked Plum from behind the bar.
“Wow this place is great,” enthused Jimmy. “An orange juice for me please.”
“I’ll have the same,” agreed Shadow. He didn’t entirely trust that his hostess was capable of pulling a decent pint. Plum plonked two glasses on the bar in front of them and fixed herself a gin and tonic.
“So, are you going to tell me all the juicy details?” she asked with a grin. “I saw Annabel earlier, but as usual she was keeping schtum. I often think my sister-in-law would have made an excellent spy. There was a rumour going around that Flynn had killed himself, well I don’t believe a word of it. Flynn wasn’t the type. What’s the truth? Were Bertie and Piers boozed up? Did they get a bit trigger-happy? Will you be carting them off to jail?”
“Mum,” said a voice from the corner of the room. “I think it’s the police who are meant to ask you the questions, not the other way around.”
Shadow and Jimmy turned around to see a young man working on a laptop at one of the tables.
“Seb, I didn’t know you were in here. Was I gabbing too much again? Chief Inspector Shadow, Sergeant Chang, this is my son Sebastian,” said Plum.
The tall young man stood up and politely shook hands with the two detectives. Thanks to Debrett’s, Shadow knew Seb’s full name was Sebastian Peter Alexander DeVere. Shadow could understand why he shortened it to three letters. With his floppy blond hair, faded jeans and polo shirt, there was little to differentiate him from Giles and Fred, until he spoke. His voice was an upper-class drawl, without a trace of a Yorkshire accent. He joined Shadow and Jimmy sitting at the bar.
“I understand you are an animal rights supporter and that you disagreed, often publicly, with the way Flynn treated his horses,” began Shadow, now Plum had finally shut up.
“Oh, not only Flynn, I disagree with horse racing in principle. I don’t know how Flynn could call himself a vet and support it. Making those beautiful creatures run so fast, often in hot weather, then allowing jockeys to whip them to make them go faster. It’s barbaric!” She shuddered dramatically.
“I take it you don’t approve of your brother running a shoot either?”
“Certainly not! They have the nerve to call it sport. The day the pheasant and grouse have guns and can shoot back at them is the day it will truly be a sport. Things will be different when Seb takes over, won’t they, darling?”
Plum reached over and ruffled her son’s hair, who in return looked suitably embarrassed.
“Mum I won’t inherit for years, maybe never.”
“But you are the duke’s heir?” asked Shadow. The family tree had been quite clear: if Bertie died childless, then his sister’s son would become the next duke.
“Yes,” Plum replied quickly before her son had a chance. “Bertie and Annabel don’t have any children of their own and I can’t see that changing anytime soon.”
“How did the two of them meet?” asked Jimmy, earning himself a scowl from Shadow, who was more interested in pursuing Plum’s certainty that they would not reproduce than the history of their relationship.
“Lavinia, Annabel’s sister, introduced them. Lavinia is quite a bit older than Annabel. They are actually half-sisters. Their father Lord Wantage left Lavinia’s mother for Annabel’s. Mummy tells me it caused quite a stir at the time. The late Lord Wantage was a terrible gambler. He blew all his money and died when Annabel was just a teenager. She’s been modelling and supporting herself ever since.” Plum paused and took a sip of her drink. “Anyway, Lavinia married Piers about ten years ago, around the time her father died. Piers and Bertie have been best friends for years. When they were younger, they were always getting into trouble—drinking, gambling, driving too fast, encouraging each other. It used to drive Mummy and Daddy to distraction. It was Piers and Lavinia who introduced Annabel to Bertie when he was down in London. He was meant to be looking after Mummy. She’d had a stroke and was recovering in a hospital down there. Bertie shirked his responsibilities as usual.” She shook her head as she took another sip. “Anyway, he must have thought it was about time he settled down and Annabel was growing bored of constantly having a camera shoved in her face, so that was that. I have to say we were all quite shocked. We had counted on Bertie remaining a bachelor forever.”
Shadow thought he’d heard more romantic stories and Plum may have rambled on, but she had at least confirmed what Lavinia had told them. Before Jimmy could ask any more questions, Shadow turned his attention to Seb.
“Assuming you do inherit, don’t you intend to keep the shoot going?” he asked.
The young man shook his head. “No, Grandpa made me go once when I was sixteen. I hated it. I won’t allow fishing or any form of hunting either. The estate will still need income though of course, and I still plan to invite people up here to shoot—only with a camera, not a gun. I’d like to introduce species that were once popular in the area, but thanks to man’s behaviour have disappeared. Otters in the river, maybe even beavers. They could help with some of the estate villages that are prone to flooding.”
“That sounds great,” enthused Jimmy.
Shadow glared at him. If he dared produce that damn wildlife book, he’d kill him.
Seb grinned. “Up in Scotland they are even introducing elk and wolves, but I’m not sure how our sheep farmers would feel about that.”
“He’s got so many wonderful ideas for the place, Chief Inspector,” gushed Plum, beaming at her son. “Mummy agrees with me: he’s going to make a fabulous job of running the estate and of course there won’t be all Bertie’s expenses like training fees for the horses. They can all come here and enjoy a lovely long retirement.”
Shadow raised an eyebrow. He wondered what Siobhan would have to say about this idea.
“But like I said, it’s years away,” added Seb. “Granny said Uncle Bertie would have another coronary if I suggested he stop shooting. He still hasn’t got over the hunting ban.”
“Would you say you and your brother are close?” asked Shadow. He was addressing Plum, but Seb stepped in.
“I’m sorry, Chief Inspector, I don’t mean to be rude, but is that relevant to how or why Mr FitzAllan died?”
Plum flapped her hand at him.
“It’s fine, Seb, I don’t mind answering. Bertie’s a bully, Chief Inspector. He always has been. He made my life hell when we were children. Perhaps he was jealous when I came along and dared take some of our parents’ attention away from him. It didn’t help that I was brighter than him. Mummy used to excuse his appalling exam results by saying how ill he’d been as a child, but he really was a complete duffer. I’m afraid he was overindulged—the typical spoilt brat.”
“Was he ever violent towards you?”
“No, it was more like emotional abuse. He’d pull the heads off my favourite teddys and shut me up in one of the priest holes—that sort of thing. Then one summer when I was about ten years old, Peter was staying with us. He heard Bertie threaten to throw my kitten out of the window, egged on by Piers as usual. Peter punched Bertie so hard he broke his nose. From that moment, Bertie never bothered me again and I fell madly in love with Peter. He was my late husband and Seb’s father, in case you didn’t know, Chief Inspector. Naturally Mummy and Daddy were thrilled I would keep the name DeVere, so a happy ending all round.”
Shadow nodded. Plum and Peter’s story was certainly an improvement on Bertie and Annabel’s.
“What are priest holes?” asked Jimmy, looking up from his electronic notebook.
“Back in the days when the country was swinging between being Catholic or Protestant, depending on who was on the throne, our ancestors liked to hedge their bets,” Plum explained. “Outwardly they would be whichever religion was in vogue as it were, while still letting Catholic priests celebrate mass at the castle in case Protestantism was a passing fad. Of course, then they needed somewhere to hide the priests should the authorities come knocking.”
“Like the tunnel between the pub and the church?” asked Shadow.
“Yes, that’s right, Chief Inspector. There are holes and tunnels all over the castle and the estate,” explained Seb. “Some are in better condition than others, so we have started some restoration work. I always thought it would be a good idea to open up the estate to the public and turn some of them into an attraction for tourists.”
“You see I told you he’s full of brilliant ideas,” Plum enthused again.
“Siobhan FitzAllan mentioned something about you being associated with saboteurs,” said Shadow.
“I bet she did,” snorted Plum. “The woman’s a dictator. I pity anyone who has to work for the witch.”
Shadow raised an eyebrow. Clearly there was no solidarity amongst widows.
“I organised a perfectly legitimate protest outside the stables,” she continued. “We didn’t cause any damage and didn’t trespass on to private land. It’s true that some of those who attended might have, in the past, been involved with action against the local hunt if they suspected foxes were still being chased, but everyone there behaved responsibly. We were exercising our right to peaceful protest.”
Shadow was a little surprised. Plum might seem dizzy, but when it came to legal matters, she sounded well informed.
“I understand Mr FitzAllan and your late father were close.”
“Oh yes,” agreed Plum, “Daddy adored Flynn. They had lots in common and of course it helped that since Flynn took over training Daddy’s horses, he’d never had so many winners.”
“And they knew each other before Flynn moved to Kirkdale?”
“Yes, Daddy invited him to set up at the Grange. Daddy was in the army when he was younger. He was posted to Northern Ireland during the Troubles and Flynn grew up in one of the border towns. I think that’s when they met.”
“When did he leave the army?” asked Shadow. This new information seemed to tie in with what Sir Charles had told them about the late duke paying for Flynn’s education.
“Oh, ages ago and under a cloud I’m afraid.” She paused. “I loved Daddy dearly, but I don’t think soldiering came naturally to him. He only joined because his father wanted him to. Said Sandhurst would be the making of him.”
Jimmy noted all this information down, while Shadow merely nodded, before asking, “Can you tell me where you both were yesterday afternoon, at around one o’clock?”
“I was here, Chief Inspector, painting. It’s a great hobby of mine,” Plum said gesturing to several watercolours of farm animals hanging on the wall.
“Was anyone here with you to confirm that?”
“No, sorry, but I can show what I was painting if you like?” she offered and before Shadow could reply she ducked behind the bar and carefully lifted a cardboard box up. She set it down gently and lifted the flap. Nestled inside among some hay was a hedgehog sleeping soundly. “We found him a few days ago. He’d fallen down one of the drains. The vet said he was underweight and dehydrated, so I’m feeding him up before releasing him into the wild,” she explained. While Jimmy cooed over the snoozing hedgehog, Shadow turned to Seb.
“I take it that means you weren’t here?”
“No, Chief Inspector, I was up on the moors taking some photographs.”
“Did you see anyone?”
