The Tewkesbury Tomb (17 page)

‘Because our murderer wanted to be sure that Crosbie could not talk.’

‘Correct. If Crosbie remained alive, his association with the murderer could be revealed at any moment. No, Crosbie had to be put out of the way. Now what we have to ask ourselves, is why did our murderer want to bring all these people together? If he wanted to kill them all, why did he not just kill them all individually in their own homes? That would have been the easy way, and it would not have aroused suspicion. Why concoct this elaborate story to bring them all here to Tewkesbury? It just does not make any sense at all – unless, of course, he still hoped that one of them might be able to solve the code on the side of the tomb.’

‘I thought we had discounted that idea, sir.’

‘Yes, you’re right. I must put all thought of that Templar out of my mind. So, who do you think is behind all this, Tom?’

‘Jenkins? Dry old fish. Don’t care for him much. You always get the feeling that he knows a lot more than you do, and that he likes you to know it, if you see what I mean.’

‘He certainly has the intelligence and knowledge to come up with this story. To him, it could have been some kind of intellectual game – but do people kill just to fulfil some kind of intelligent desire? I don’t know, but if he did kill Crosbie, Hollinger and Anstruther, then it would make sense of the fact that he has left the town in a hurry before we can lay our hands on him.’

‘Ganniford?’ suggested Crabb.

‘Ganniford. Yes, Ganniford, always critical and complaining, but I doubt that he would have had the energy or the inclination
to commit three murders.’

‘Miss Eames?’

‘Miss Eames interests me. We know that her father was the colonel of Ross’s regiment and that he was present at the hunting party weekend, although the good lady was not there herself. So why bring Miss Eames here to Tewkesbury, if her father was already dead?’

‘Perhaps Crosbie intended that Major Eames should have been present, but then he died unexpectedly and his daughter came in his place?’ suggested Crabb.

‘I think you may well be right, Tom. She said that her father had only recently died. She must have been there when Crosbie called on her father, and after his death decided that she would journey to Tewkesbury to look for the treasure. Our Miss Eames certainly likes to stay in the background, and I must say I was not entirely convinced when she declared that she knew nothing of the events of both the hunting weekend and that massacre in Afghanistan. I think her father must have told her something – but what possible motive can she have to kill Hollinger, Anstruther and Crosbie? Jenkins, Ganniford or Miss Eames? We are, of course, forgetting one thing in all this: our chief suspect, Ross, is still at large. I am convinced that it is Ross who holds the solution to this mystery.’

‘But Ross is dead, sir. Ganniford and Lord Treaves both saw the body and confirmed the death,’ said Crabb.

‘Yes, that would appear to confirm the newspaper report of the inquest. If Ganniford and the others did lure Ross to Lord Treaves’s estate that weekend with the intention of killing him to reclaim the honour of the regiment, then they certainly seem to have fulfilled their intention. I think we can safely assume that the man they saw that night at the abbey and when we interviewed at Bredon’s Norton was not Ross. And in my
experience dead men don’t come back from the dead to seek revenge on those who might have done them wrong in their lifetime. You recall what Ganniford said – although the man told them he was Ross, his face was partially obscured by his large hat and we must remember that ten years had elapsed since the shooting. It was also dark that night and the man quickly disappeared from view once inside the abbey. I think someone was impersonating Ross. He clearly wanted the others to believe he was Ross, but why? Why pretend to be a dead man, and why go around killing two members of the former hunting party? We have not got to the bottom of all this yet. We need to do some more research. I want to know a lot more about that massacre in Afghanistan,’ said Ravenscroft, quickly rising from his chair.

‘How will you do that, sir? It was all such a long time ago.’

‘We must contact the regiment direct and see if they can throw any more light on the event. We also need to know more about Ross’s family. Where did he originate from? Kirkintilloch, someone said. Right, Tom, you and I need to pay a visit to the telegraph office, then we must resume our search for Jenkins.’

‘The men are out looking for him now, sir,’ said Crabb following Ravenscroft out of the room.

‘Whatever is all that shouting outside?’ said Ravenscroft throwing open the outer door of the building.

‘Now quieten down, my lad. I’ve told you Mr Ravenscroft is busy and not to be disturbed,’ said a breathless Reynolds seeking to restrain the youthful Stebbins by holding the young servant’s collar.

‘What is all this about, Reynolds?’ enquired Ravenscroft.

‘Thank the lord, Mr Ravenscroft! This puffed-up gent who calls himself an officer of the law, won’t let me speak to you on a matter of greatest urgency,’ said an indignant Stebbins, trying to free himself from the other’s grasp.

‘Troublemaker if ever I saw one!’ proclaimed Reynolds.

‘Let go! Yer strangling me, you great bluebottle!’

‘All right, Reynolds, you can let the lad go. Now, Stebbins, what’s this all about? Be quick, we are on urgent business,’ said Ravenscroft, beginning to move away down the street.

‘It’s that gent, sir,’ said a relieved Stebbins, brushing down his uniform as he ran after the policemen.

‘Jenkins?’ asked Crabb.

‘Yes, him. I reckon I knows where he might be.’

‘Where, Stebbins, where?’ asked Ravenscroft, suddenly stopping and facing the boy.

‘Most like he be under the big wheel.’

‘What wheel?’

‘The big wheel down at the mill on the weir,’ replied Stebbins, growing in self-importance.

‘You have seen Mr Jenkins there?’ asked Ravenscroft looking anxiously at Crabb.

‘No, I ain’t actually seen him there.’

‘I knew he was wasting our time,’ nodded Reynolds, expressing a degree of satisfaction.

‘Then how do you know Mr Jenkins is there, Stebbins, if you have not actually seen him?’ enquired an indignant Ravenscroft.

‘’Cause that’s where they all ends up.’

‘Where who ends up?’

‘The stiffs, sir. That’s where they all ends up – under the big mill wheel by the weir.’

‘And how do you know that, Stebbins? I thought you had only been here in Tewkesbury for a few months.’

‘Been talking with the other lads, I have. I has been a making a few enquiries on your behalf, Mr Ravenscroft. They says when folk goes missing, they is always found under the big wheel.’

‘I’ll send him packing, sir,’ said Reynolds.

‘Could be worth taking a look?’ suggested Crabb.

‘Now look here, Stebbins, if you have been making all this up—’

‘On the good Queen’s life, bless her, and the dead Albert,’ interrupted the boy, crossing himself.

‘Right, then we had better go and see,’ said Ravenscroft. ‘Just where is this watermill, Reynolds?’

‘Not far, sir,’ replied the constable with annoyance.

‘Then lead on, Reynolds. Stebbins, you had better accompany us.’

‘Delighted, Mr Ravenscroft,’ said the boy, giving the constable a broad grin.

The party turned away from the main street and followed a smaller road that ran down towards the river.

‘That looks like a mill,’ said Crabb, pointing at a large building that came presently into view.

‘And that, if I am not mistaken, must be the wheel that turns the water away from the weir,’ said Ravenscroft.

‘Told you so, Mr Ravenscroft. If your mister has met his end in that river, that’s where he’ll be and no mistake,’ announced Stebbins.

‘Looks as though someone is here before us, sir,’ said Crabb, pointing to a lone figure who was approaching quickly along the river-bank from the other direction.

‘Good morning, Reverend,’ called out Ravenscroft.

‘Good morning to you, Inspector, gentlemen,’ replied the Reverend Jesterson. ‘It is indeed a pleasant morning for a stroll by the river.’

‘Indeed so, Reverend. The noise from the water is quite deafening,’ said Ravenscroft drawing nearer.

‘Can’t see anything, sir,’ said Crabb, trying to make himself heard, as the group peered over the edge of the small wall that
separated the bank from the revolving wheel.

‘Can I ask what it is that you are looking for?’ asked Jesterson.

‘There he is, Mr Ravenscroft!’ shouted Stebbins excitedly, pointing down into the waters.

‘Don’t be daft, lad,’ said Reynolds. ‘That’s just a sack and some old driftwood.’

‘I tells you it’s him!’ said Stebbins, leaning so far forward that Crabb felt compelled to restrain the eager young man by grasping the collar of his coat.

‘I think he might just be right. Run and get that pole on the side of the bank, Crabb,’ instructed Ravenscroft, straining for a better view.

‘Whatever is the matter?’ asked an anxious Jesterson.

‘It’s him, the one with the long nose. Dead as last year’s cold cucumber if you asks me,’ proclaimed Stebbins.

‘We don’t know that just yet, Stebbins. Here, give me the pole, Crabb, and I will try and hook whatever it is,’ said Ravenscroft. ‘Here we are. Help me pull it into the side. Good God! The boy is right. It is a body!’

Ravenscroft looked at the blank wall before him. Two hours before he and Crabb had taken the body recovered from beneath the mill wheel to the local mortuary, where an examination had shown that the deceased had died as the result of a blow to the back of the head. Whether the blow was inflicted before the body was thrown into the waters of the Severn, or whether death was caused as the result of the unfortunate victim falling into the river and then hitting his head on a large stone or the mill wheel, was uncertain. Either way, Jenkins was now dead, and another suspect had ceased to be. Just how Jenkins had found his way to the river when the abbey was in the opposite direction when he had left the Hop Pole earlier that morning, remained a mystery. There was no way that Ravenscroft could prove whether the dead man had died as the result of an accident or had been cruelly struck down by another.

First Hollinger, then Anstruther – and now Jenkins. Now there only remained Ganniford and Miss Eames of the original
six members of the group, and, of course, the mysterious, elusive Ross. Ravenscroft was convinced that the Scotsman was behind all the killings, and that they had something to do with that massacre in Afghanistan and Ross’s ‘supposed’ death at Lord Treaves’s weekend gathering, but the more he considered the matter, the more difficult it became to understand why a dead man would come back from the grave to seek revenge on the members of that hunting party.

The door suddenly opened and Tom Crabb entered the room.

‘Well, Tom, any news yet?’ asked Ravenscroft, quickly removing his feet from the table in front of him.

‘None sir.’

‘Confound it. We must half the county looking for this fellow Ross, and yet no one has seen him. He can’t just have gone to ground. Any replies yet from the telegrams we sent out?’

‘Not yet. I’ve told the boy to bring us any reply as soon as it is received.’

‘I can’t stand all this waiting around, Tom. There must be something else we can do,’ said Ravenscroft, standing up and pacing the room.

‘Have you considered the possibility that Jenkins might have thrown himself into the river?’ suggested Crabb, unable to think of anything else that might relieve his superior’s anxiety.

‘You mean that Jenkins was so full of remorse after killing Anstruther and Hollinger that he decided to do away with himself? I don’t think so.’

‘Just a thought,’ said Crabb turning away.

‘He didn’t seem to be the type who would do that. Talking of Jenkins, how did you think Ganniford and Miss Eames took the news?’

‘Ganniford seemed very upset. I suppose they had been friends for many years.’

‘And Miss Eames?’

‘How do you mean? She sat there and said nothing.’

‘That was just it. I thought she might have broken down, but, no, she merely turned away and sat quietly in her chair.’

‘Probably the shock was too much for her.’

‘No doubt you are right.’

‘Have you considered the possibility that Jesterson might be behind all this?’ suggested Crabb.

‘Go on.’

‘Well, it seems just more than a coincidence that he was walking along the river-bank when we arrived at the mill.’

‘You think he might have just killed Jenkins?’

‘He could have done. We only have his word for it that Jenkins hadn’t visited the abbey shortly before his death. Then he was there that night outside the Hop Pole when Anstruther left just after Hollinger’s murder. It could be just another coincidence. Can’t say I like the gentleman. Something about him doesn’t seem right.’

‘I still can’t see Jesterson as our killer, or even working in conjunction with someone else. What reason would he have for killing Hollinger, Anstruther and Jenkins?’

‘Just an idea,’ said a crestfallen Crabb.

‘Damn it. What are we missing, Tom? There has to be something else; something which we have overlooked. Why, yes of course – the Army List!’ said Ravenscroft suddenly stopping in the centre of the room.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘The Army List! You remember when I sent you to the local library the other day to look up Major Anstruther in the Army List, and you couldn’t find him there. That must have been because he had left his regiment some years previously but he still wanted us to believe that he was with the Guards. Did you
look up Ross?’

‘No, sir,’ replied a baffled Crabb. ‘At that time we knew nothing of Ross.’

‘Exactly! Tell me, Tom, did the library have back copies of the Army List for previous years?’ asked Ravenscroft eagerly.

‘I believe so, sir, although it was difficult to tell, as the books were all over the place.’

‘Then let us go and consult them. Tell Reynolds to bring any telegrams that might arrive to us there as soon as possible.’

‘Good morning to you, Mr Webster,’ said Ravenscroft smiling, as he and Crabb entered the library a few minutes later.

The librarian looked up from his work, and gave the men a far from encouraging look of recognition. ‘Mr Ravenscroft, it is you again.’

‘It is indeed.’

‘Pray, sir, how do you know my name? I thought I had not told it you on your previous visit. No, I did not.’

‘You are correct, sir – but then there is a well-worn plaque attached to the outside of these premises which informs one, albeit it in rather faded letters, that one might find a librarian by the name of Webster inside this building.’

The librarian’s mouth gave a slight twitch as he resumed his work.

‘It is back copies of the Army List that my assistant and I need to consult.’

‘The Army List, you say? That is a very unusual thing to request, if I may say so. A very unusual request indeed. Yes it is. I do not know where such an item, or items may be found. No, I do not.’

‘Crabb, where did you find the volume when you visited the other day?’ sighed Ravenscroft.

‘On the shelf over here, sir,’ replied Crabb, leading the way.

‘That may be the wrong part of the library, gentlemen, in which to seek such an item. Then again you may be correct, and you may well find that which you are seeking. I cannot say. No, I cannot say so at all with any great degree of certainty,’ began the librarian, quickly rising from his seat.

‘Here we are, sir. This was the present volume. These look like some earlier volumes,’ said Crabb, reaching up to one of the shelves.

‘Fortunately the run would appear to go back a number of years. 1877, let’s start with that one,’ said Ravenscroft, opening one of the small, leather-bound volumes and turning over the pages. ‘Ah, here we are: Captain Charles Ross, formerly of Kirkintilloch, Dumbartonshire, Scotland. Try the next one, 1878, Tom, whilst I look in 1879.’

‘I see you are fruitful in your search, gentlemen. That is good. Yes, it is, indeed.’

The two men ignored the librarian as they eagerly continued with their research.

‘Yes, here he is again, sir,’ said Tom looking up from the volume.

‘So he was still listed in 1878. That was when the incident in Afghanistan must have taken place. He is still listed here for 1879, although he must have left the army by then, but the list was probably several months out of date when it was published. Let us try 1880. Ah, here we are, see there is no entry for Captain Charles Ross for that year.’

‘Not surprising, sir, as he was dead by then,’ said Crabb, still puzzled by his superior’s line of new enquiry.

‘Take the other volumes. Start with 1881.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Humour me, Crabb. 1882 nothing there. Try 1883. No,
nothing,’ said Ravenscroft, quickly turning over the pages of the volumes.

‘1884. Nothing for Ross here,’ said Crabb.

‘Damn! I was convinced that— 1885. Look here, Crabb! Captain Robert Ross. Formerly of Kirkintilloch.’

‘Robert Ross?’

‘Yes – and see here, 1886. The same entry. Try the next one, while I take a look for 1888,’ instructed Ravenscroft.

‘Yes, sir. 1887. Captain Robert Ross,’ said Crabb.

‘But there is no entry for 1888. Do you see what this means, Tom? Captain Robert Ross of Kirkintilloch was serving in the army from 1885 until 1887. The fact that he is not listed in 1888, last year’s volume, suggests that he had left the army by then,’ said Ravenscroft excitedly.

‘I still don’t understand, sir.’

‘Robert Ross was related to our Charles Ross – possibly a younger brother – and both came from Kirkintilloch!’

‘So Charles Ross did die at that hunting party after all.’

‘Exactly! And the man we saw at Bredon’s Norton was not Charles Ross but his brother Robert – and have you noticed something else, Crabb? They are both listed as serving in the same regiment in India and Afghanistan!’

‘You think that Robert Ross killed Anstruther, Hollinger and Jenkins because he believed that they had shot his brother?’ asked Crabb, as he and Ravenscroft made their way back to the station.

‘I am certain of it. He used Crosbie to lure those whom he felt responsible for his brother’s death, on the pretext that they were all entitled to a share of the old knight’s treasure. He knew that they would all be more than anxious not to miss out on the opportunity,’ replied Ravenscroft.

‘Very clever.’

‘And once Crosbie had performed his role he was disposable.’

‘Why didn’t Ross just eliminate them one by one in their own homes?’

‘Perhaps he derived some kind of pleasure or satisfaction in watching how the others would react, one by one, as they learned of the others’ deaths. What I don’t understand is, why? Why would Robert Ross seek revenge for his brother’s death, when Charles Ross had bought dishonour and shame on his family due to his cowardice in Afghanistan? You would think that Ross would have wanted nothing to do with his brother’s memory after that act of cowardice. No, I cannot see that he would act out of revenge.’

‘Here is Reynolds, sir,’ interrupted Crabb.

‘Ah, Reynolds, I trust you have news for me,’ said Ravenscroft as the policeman drew near.

‘Yes, sir. Telegram just arrived,’ replied the constable passing over the item to his superior.

‘Thank you, Reynolds,’ said Ravenscroft eagerly, tearing open the envelope. ‘It’s from the colonel of Ross’s old regiment.
Can
confirm massacre took place. Ross discredited at time. New evidence
suggests however that Ross fought with honour
.’

‘What does that mean, “fought with honour”?’ asked Crabb.

‘It means that Charles Ross did not desert his post that day. He must have fought bravely to save the others and was wrongly accused of cowardice at the time. If Anstruther and the others did shoot Ross during the hunting party, they must have believed at the time that Charles Ross was guilty of cowardice and that they were acting to restore the honour of the regiment. If Robert Ross joined the regiment some years later, and somehow learned of what really happened at that massacre, then he must have believed that his brother had been unjustly treated
– and somehow wanted revenge on those who had caused his brother’s death!’ exclaimed Ravenscroft.

‘So that is why Ross killed Anstruther and the others?’

‘My God, Crabb! We have been so stupid. Do you see what this means?’

‘What, sir?’

‘It means that even as we speak, Ganniford and Miss Eames are in the gravest danger!’

Ravenscroft ran into the Hop Pole, closely followed by Crabb and Reynolds.

‘Lord, Mr Ravenscroft, you is in a mighty hurry,’ said Stebbins, looking up from the desk in the reception area. ‘Somat must be up.’

‘Where are Mr Ganniford and Miss Eames?’ asked Ravenscroft urgently.

‘Last seen in the snug, sir,’ answered the boy.

Ravenscroft quickly made his way across the bar and into the snug. ‘Thank goodness,’ he remarked, as Ganniford came forward to meet them.

‘Whatever is the matter, Inspector?’ asked Ganniford taken aback by the sudden intrusion.

‘I believe that you and Miss Eames are in the gravest danger.’

‘From Ross?’

‘From Ross. There is no time to explain now. Where is Miss Eames?’ asked Ravenscroft looking anxiously around the room.

‘She said she was going out for a walk,’ answered Ganniford.

‘And you let her go alone?’ retorted Ravenscroft.

‘I could see no harm in it. The good lady said she wanted to be alone.’

‘How long ago was this?’

‘About five minutes ago.’

‘We are too late!’ exclaimed Ravenscroft. ‘Quickly, man, can you remember where Miss Eames said she might be taking her walk?’

‘Into the town I believe, or was it down by the river? Blessed if I can remember,’ said a confused Ganniford scratching his head.

‘It is very important that you do remember, Mr Ganniford. I believe that Miss Eames is in the gravest danger,’ implored Ravenscroft.

‘Yes, yes, I remember. She said she was going to take a walk around the abbey grounds. Yes, that was it, the abbey grounds.’

‘Quickly, Crabb. We must make all speed,’ said Ravenscroft, rushing out of the room.

The two men made their way out of the inn and ran quickly across the road, followed by Reynolds, Ganniford and an eager Stebbins.

‘Which way, sir?’ asked Crabb, pausing at the entrance to the abbey grounds.

‘This way I would think,’ replied Ravenscroft, turning towards the right.

The group followed Ravenscroft across the lawns that ran in front and to the side of the abbey.

‘Over there!’ shouted Crabb, pointing towards a distant figure.

‘Thank God we are in time to save the good lady,’ said Ravenscroft quickening his pace. ‘Who is that black-coated figure moving towards her?’

‘It’s Ross, sir!’ exclaimed Crabb.

‘We must save her!’ replied Ravenscroft.

‘He has her, sir!’ said Crabb.

As the group drew nearer to the couple, Ravenscroft observed that Ross had grabbed his quarry.

‘Leave her alone!’ shouted a breathless Ravenscroft, drawing
closer to the couple.

Ross turned to face Ravenscroft, one arm around Miss Eames’s waist, the other clasping a knife to her throat.

‘It’s finished, Ross. Let Miss Eames go,’ commanded Ravenscroft, as the remainder of his party came running up behind him.