The Dalwich Desecration Read online

  “I’ll be fine,” he said under his breath. “We shall have the end of this tragic case before you know it.” And then he was gone. And as I stood there a minute, the darkness and silence quickly reasserting their presence, I prayed that he was right.

  CHAPTER 22

  Constable Brendle looked markedly heartier as we stood at the end of his bed, traces of morning light streaming in through the nearby window and helping to liven his color. He was sitting fully upright for the first time since the accident, and the genuine smile on his face was a welcome sight. Tall, slender Mr. Whitsett was beaming from his usual position behind us, and this particular morning also found his compatriot, the swarthy Mr. Masri, on hand. His left arm was wrapped in a bandage up to the elbow and lay nestled in a cloth sling. Beyond the obviousness of his injury, however, Mr. Masri looked notably well, making the relief of all three men almost palpable.

  “I have either gotten used to the pain,” the constable was telling us with a lopsided grin on his handsome young face, “or it has settled into something of a dull ache. Either way, I am feeling inestimably better today. I should like to think that I will be able to unfetter my arse from this wretched bed in a matter of days, not weeks.”

  “Take it easy, Lachlan.” Mr. Whitsett stepped forward and tutted. “You know you mustn’t rush yourself. You heard what the doctor said.”

  Constable Brendle waved him off. “That man would have me on my back for the better part of a month, and you can be sure I’ll not follow such archaic advice as that.”

  “But I’ve already told you I will attend to anything that might require your attention, and Mr. Masri is sure to come as often as he can, so you mustn’t rush yourself needlessly.”

  “Now, Graham . . .” The constable’s voice softened as he gazed back at Mr. Whitsett, whose face held a mixture of pity and regret. “Even though you are on leave while this accident gets sorted out by that lot from Arundel, that doesn’t mean you need to spend all your time fussing over me. I’m sure they’ll have everything settled with all due haste and then we will need you back to work. It isn’t right having those boys loping around our village. It will be up to you to maintain the proper constabulary order until Ahmet and I can join you again.” He gave a dry sort of chuckle. “And while I cannot speak for Ahmet, I can tell you that I do not intend to lie about here for very long.”

  “I certainly won’t be staying home a moment longer than I must,” Mr. Masri piped up with a smile. “My missus is already complaining that I’m getting underfoot. Why’d ya think I’m here right now?!” he added with a laugh.

  “And I thought it was because you were fretting about me,” the constable put in with a laugh of his own.

  Mr. Masri waved him off with a wide grin. “You’re fifteen years younger than me, you can fret about yourself.”

  I glanced back at Graham Whitsett and found that, while he too was wearing a smile, there was no humor behind his eyes. They looked distant and wounded and full of regret, and I realized that all of this bantering was at his expense. It was not meant to be but was thusly so just the same.

  “I’m sure the both of you will be well recovered in due course,” Colin said, and I was glad for Mr. Whitsett’s sake that he had done so. “But I wonder if we might not turn our attentions to the graver matters at hand before one of your provisional constables decides to insert himself into these cases.”

  “An excellent point,” Constable Brendle answered at once, his face donning resolute seriousness, which made the spectacle of addressing him in bed feel suddenly ludicrous. “What is it you have for us today?”

  “What I have is a further need to question Mr. Chesterton. And as you are aware, Constable, I believe it unlikely that he will wish to cooperate with me.” Colin cleared his throat and though he held his eyes steady I could tell that he was girding himself against this most uncomfortable conversation. “I was hoping you could have him sent for and that we might perhaps speak with him together.”

  The constable nodded without hesitation, his face remaining thoughtful and somber, though I was certain I could sense a tick of delight in his manner, pleased, no doubt, to be involved in the case again. “I think that an exemplary idea,” he said. “Mr. Whitsett, will you please be so kind as to request Mr. Chesterton’s presence at once.”

  “Me?”

  “Well, I do think you are the fittest of us. Do you have a better suggestion?”

  Mr. Whitsett flipped a baffled sort of look between the four of us before finally allowing the slimmest shrug of his shoulders. “I suppose you have a point.” He took a few steps back, though it was clear he really did not wish to leave. It seemed almost as if he thought we might actually solve the case in his brief absence, or that perhaps none of us would supply the care to the constable that he alone could provide. Nevertheless, after a moment more he said, “I’ll bring him right back.” And then he turned and bolted from the room.

  “Did you remember about the autopsy?” Mr. Masri asked of the constable as we heard the front door open and shut. “You said you wanted to show Mr. Pendragon and Mr. Pruitt the telegram. . . .”

  “Yes, of course,” Constable Brendle mumbled, and it was clear he had not remembered at all. He reached over and snatched a folded piece of paper from the stand beside his bed and held it out for Colin. “It’s from the coroner’s office in Arundel. Preliminary findings from the autopsy they performed on Miss O’Dowd over the weekend. I think you will find it rather curious.”

  “Indeed . . . ?” Colin said as he accepted the single sheet and quickly perused it. “Indeed . . .” he said again, his brow cascading down on itself. He looked at the constable and then turned his gaze to me. “It confirms her death by asphyxiation. They have managed to pull a partial handprint at the front of the throat. But it goes on to say that there are no additional signs of physical assault against her person. Most curious given the disheveled state of her clothing.” I could see in his eyes that while the information was unexpected, he was nonetheless already beginning to consider a myriad of possible explanations. “And they have confirmed that she was with child,” he added grimly as he handed the telegram to me.

  I read the three short lines swiftly and tried to surmise what it all could mean. It seemed that either the perpetrator had been interrupted before he could see his intentions through, or that the tableau was a hoax meant to divert us from the truth of what had actually led to the young woman’s murder.

  “Whatever do you make of it, Mr. Pendragon?” The constable interrupted my scattered thoughts.

  “I would be foolish to make anything of it just yet,” he answered carefully, “and I would caution you against doing the same.”

  Constable Brendle looked startled by Colin’s response before quickly seeming to collect his faculties and nodding his agreement. “Most certainly,” he acknowledged with great solemnity. He leaned across his side table again and this time grabbed the small bottle of medicine sitting there. “May I ask . . .” he said after taking a small sip from the bottle and returning it to its place, “. . . what is it that you wish to discuss with Mr. Chesterton?”

  “I should like to hear about his visits to the monastery to purchase their ale. I assume you are aware that Mr. Chesterton is the only person who is permitted by the monks to distribute it?”

  “That fact is quite well-known, but it never occurred to me that it might have any relevance to either of these murders.”

  Colin’s face tightened almost imperceptibly. “We cannot know what is relevant or irrelevant until every question has been answered.”

  “But surely you cannot suspect Mr. Chesterton of having something to do with either of these murders? Not only is he a man of some years, but it’s a fact that he thought of Miss O’Dowd very much as his own daughter.”

  “Mr. Chesterton may be older than any of us here,” Colin spoke decisively and with a noticeable thinness of patience, “but there are men his age and older who would not think twice about inflicti
ng themselves on an unwilling woman, biological inclination or not. That is a simple fact, Constable, that you would do well to remember.”

  “It’s true.” Mr. Masri spoke up. “When I was a bobby out in Cardiff we hunted a man who was preying on young girls. Turns out he was almost sixty. Somebody’s great-grandfather.” He shook his head. “They hung the bastard.”

  “Rightfully so,” Constable Brendle added with a marked note of contrition sneaking into his voice. “Forgive me, Mr. Pendragon, I do not mean to question how you are conducting your investigation.” He gave a small shrug. “You clearly have many years of experience on me and I can only tell you that it leaves me somewhat ill at ease over that which I do not yet know.”

  I had to refrain from chuckling as I watched Colin’s face curdle ever so slightly. “I am hardly an elder statesman, but you would do well to keep an open mind until the perpetrator has been apprehended. I should think that would have been one of the first tenets of any training you received. You did receive training?” he pressed, and this time it was Mr. Masri, not me, who actually let out a guffaw.

  To his credit, Constable Brendle also managed a chuckle, though I knew Colin’s intent to be amusing had been secondary. “Perhaps we had best leave that line of questioning until after Mr. Chesterton’s appearance.” The constable blushed. “Can you tell us of anything you’ve learned about the unfortunate abbot at Whitmore Abbey?”

  “What I have learned is that young Master Honeycutt was known to have assisted the monks in balancing their ledgers.”

  “Edward?!”

  “Indeed.” And I could see that Colin had taken the measure of how his unexpected news had caught both Constable Brendle and Mr. Masri.

  “The monks told you this?”

  Colin flicked a tight smile at the poor, youthful constable. “And who else might I deem to accept such information from?”

  Constable Brendle blinked as though stung until Colin deigned to crack a wider smile, at which point the two lawmen did the same with obvious relief. “It pains me to hear you say it’s possible that Edward Honeycutt could be caught up in any of this. He seems to hold such promise.” The constable tightened his expression as though speaking of someone a good deal younger than himself.

  “It is a possibility,” Colin agreed with a stiff nod of his head, “but once again I would caution against drawing any sort of conclusions until we have greater knowledge of the facts. Do not forget that just as you must be cautious of discounting someone for their age, you need also to guard against casting aspersions simply because of opportunity. There can certainly be truth to both suppositions, but only after the full weight of circumstance, motive, and capacity have been fully scrutinized.”

  “Yes, yes, of course.” The constable grimaced as though having been admonished. “I really must blame my senselessness on these ruddy opiates. They have absolutely turned my judgment to mush.”

  Colin flashed a brief smile. “It’s all well and good as long as they are also doing the same to your pain,” he said, but I suspected he really thought the opiates were making little difference in the constable’s thinking.

  In the next instant we heard the sound of the front door open and close from the other room. “I’m back with Mr. Chesterton!” Mr. Whitsett called out like a school-aged boy as he came gliding into the room, his tall, lean form in diametrical opposition to Mr. Chesterton’s far shorter and stouter one.

  Mr. Chesterton’s jowl-laden face sank the moment he spied us. “Ya didn’t tell me these two was gonna be here,” he growled, making the number sound like the worst sort of slight.

  “They are here at my insistence,” Constable Brendle answered at once. “You will treat them with the respect that you accord to me.”

  “I ain’t respectin’ a couple a feckin’ poofs,” he shot back under his breath.

  My heart leapt to my throat and I dared not look at anyone.

  “And I believe that is called slander,” Colin responded calmly. “A crime punishable by imprisonment.”

  “I will not have you speaking to these men in such a way in my own home,” the constable barked at Mr. Chesterton. “You will answer their questions with the deference you show to me or you will spend the night in a cell where you can consider your words more carefully.”

  Raleigh Chesterton’s look of contempt revealed his precise thoughts as he crossed his arms over his chest and grunted his assent without casting the slightest glance at either Colin or me. It was all the invitation Colin needed, though I remained relieved that neither Mr. Whitsett nor Mr. Masri had yet to say anything nor take so much as a furtive step away from us.

  “How many years have you been collecting and distributing the monks’ ale?” Colin proceeded with the simplicity of a trifling conversation over dinner.

  Mr. Chesterton kept his watery eyes glued on Constable Brendle, his broad face unyielding in its determination. “What’s it been, Constable? Eleven . . . ? Twelve years . . . ?”

  “I suppose. Something like that.”

  “Is it really necessary for me ta discuss every little thing I do with these two when you already know all about me?” He tilted his head toward Colin without budging his gaze. “I take a shite nearly every day, ya wanna know about that too?”

  “Mr. Chesterton!” the constable warned again, but I thought it came out rather flat and toothless.

  Colin waved him off. “How often do you go up there to take delivery?”

  “Once or twice a month,” he sniffed. “Less in the winter.”

  “And did you usually take Edward Honeycutt with you?”

  His face became ever more surly, though I would not have thought that possible, as he slid his eyes to Colin for the first time. “What’s yer interest in that lad?” He shifted his gaze back to Constable Brendle as his veiled accusation hung there. “It ain’t right. . . .”

  “Answer the question, Mr. Chesterton,” Constable Brendle warned yet again. “Answer it as if I had asked you myself. I shall not tell you again.”

  Raleigh Chesterton’s face contorted with his displeasure. “Yeah, I brought him. Them kegs are too big fer me ta handle on me own. And them monks ain’t much use. Most of ’em make me look lively.” He cracked a slight, one-sided smile at his own joke, but there was little merriment behind his eyes. “Edward Honeycutt’s a good lad, Constable. Ya know it like ya know yer own men here,” he said, gesturing to Mr. Whitsett and Mr. Masri, who had thankfully remained as stoic as statues. “Don’t let these dandies turn yer head against him,” he sneered, and the way he said it made me feel abhorred.

  “No one is altering the way they look at anyone, Mr. Chesterton,” the constable answered tightly. “We are collecting facts and nothing more.” It was heartening to hear him parrot back Colin’s own words even though it seemed to have no effect in mollifying Mr. Chesterton.

  “And how long has Edward been doing your ledgers?” Colin pressed with his usual determination.

  “’Bout a year, I suppose.”

  “Do you review young Mr. Honeycutt’s work?”

  Mr. Chesterton’s eyes flicked over to Colin with a disapproving scowl and then shifted immediately back to Constable Brendle. “What for? That’s what he gets paid ta do. If I gotta do ’em myself, then I sure as hell don’t need him.”

  “And who’s idea was it that he should start assisting with the monks’ ledgers?” Colin continued as if the answers being hurtled back were as pleasant as a teatime repast.

  “You’d have ta ask them.”

  “Did Maureen O’Dowd ever tell you that she planned to marry Edward Honeycutt and move to London with him?”

  Something feral seemed to pass behind Mr. Chesterton’s eyes as he took a moment before answering. “I knew,” he finally admitted. “She didn’t think I knew, but I did. She told anybody who’d listen. Weren’t no secret in that.”

  “Do you think it plausible that Mr. Honeycutt and Miss O’Dowd were ever really going to be able to move to London on the salary t
hey were each earning at your fine establishment?”

  Raleigh Chesterton puckered his face having clearly caught the scorn in Colin’s words. “Why the feck would I pay a bit a mind ta what them two was talkin’ about doin’?”

  “That seems curious,” Colin muttered with feigned innocence. “They would appear to have represented a good portion of your staff. Wouldn’t losing the two of them require your finding suitable replacements? That could hardly be an easy task in such a small town as Dalwich.”

  “I got plenty a help. You’re a bloody arse.”

  “Mr. Chesterton!” the constable scolded, sounding undeniably fatigued by his continuing endeavor to get the older man to behave.

  A taut grin drifted across Colin’s face an instant before he breached the subject I knew he’d been eager to address from the start. “Mr. Chesterton, did you know that Miss O’Dowd was pregnant?”

  For the first time since his arrival Mr. Chesterton’s face was shot full of surprise as his eyes flicked over to Colin. “She what . . . ?” His mouth gaped open as his arms fell to his sides. I heard a stunned breath exhaled and thought at first that it was Mr. Chesterton, but as his jaw remained slack I realized it had come from either Mr. Masri or Mr. Whitsett, who were standing behind me. “Bloody hell . . .” Raleigh Chesterton finally muttered with a shake of his head. “Does Edward know?” And this time he asked Colin directly with neither disparagement nor distaste.

  “He does,” Colin answered. “Are you surprised that neither of them told you . . . ?”

  “Huh . . . ? Surprised . . . ?” It took a second before the scowl slowly re-formed on his forehead. “Nah . . .” His voice had grown cold again. “They don’t have ta tell me shite.” But I was certain he felt otherwise.

  “Did you ever hear Edward profess any desire to have a family?”