Two Birds with One Stone (A Marsden-Lacey Cozy Mystery Book 1) (8 page)

Chapter 17

“I
’
M GLAD YOU COULD COME in this
morning, Sir,”
DCI
Johns said to Louis Devry on the following Sunday morning. “Have a seat.”
He motioned for
Devry to sit opposite him on the other side of his desk.

“
We haven
’
t had
this much violence in Yorkshire since Hindley and Brady wreaked their special
brand of horror and murder in the 60
’
s.”
Johns sipped his
black tea out of a substantial yellow mug.

Louis Devry looked down at his hands, then turned them over
and put his palms flat upon Johns
’
desk. “Chief
Inspector, how can I help you? I apologize if I
’
m not
myself. Piers Cousins is probably my best friend in the world and the nurse
this morning said his condition is only improving slowly.”

Johns drummed his pen on the desk. “You know, Devry, you
’
ve got an interesting accent. Can
’
t place
it. Where exactly are you from?”

“I was born in Hartford, Connecticut. My father was English
and he taught anthropology at Harvard.”

“How’d you end up in England?”

“We moved back to Oxford when I was twelve,”
Devry said.

“Is that where you met Piers Cousins?”

“
I met Piers
at Eton. On holidays I
would go home with him to Healy. It was more of a home to me than my own. You
see, my mother died when I was eleven and my father quickly remarried.”

“So, you must have gone to Oxford or was it Cambridge?”
Johns scribbled
something in his notebook.

“Well, neither,”
Devry said with a short laugh. “I went to Harvard. I missed home.”

“Did you work in America?”

“Yes. My first degree was in English literature so naturally
one of the few avenues open to me was teaching. An absolutely exhausting
experience. I taught in prep schools for a few years and then decided to go
back and get my masters in curatorial studies. My first curatorial job was in
Massachusetts working in a private collection.”

Johns studied Louis Devry for a few seconds. “How did you
end up here again, Mr. Devry?”

“About a year ago I got a phone call from Piers. He asked if
I would be interested in a position with a museum he was involved with. I
thought it would be a nice way to catch up with friends and I was aware of The
Grange’s famous collection. He invited me over for a look around and I wanted a
change in my life, so I accepted.”

“Do you have a wife, maybe a girlfriend?”
Johns asked.

“Long time ago. The family I worked for after I finished my
master
’
s program had a daughter. Her name was Emilia. I
fell in love with her but she was sent to school in Switzerland. I never
married.”

Johns pushed further. “What ever happened to Emilia?”

“She
’
s dead.”
The muscle on the left hand side of
Devry’s jaw tightened and then relaxed.

Johns never took his gaze off Devry
’
s
face and was acutely aware of the man
’
s every movement and
energy. “How did she die?”

“In child birth. It still happens you know? Women still die
that way. She was extremely ill during the pregnancy and it took a toll. I was
told something went wrong and she lost too much blood. She never regained
consciousness. She died too young.”

The last words were said more to the clenched hands in his
lap than to Johns.

“What happened to the child? Did it live?”
Johns asked.

Louis Devry actually blanched. Johns realized he had hit a
nerve.

“I…I…believe Emilia
’
s husband, Sir
Carstons, would have been raising the child.”

There it was. An extremely bitter connection between the two
men: a woman. Johns noted that Devry had said “raising”
not “father.”

“Emilia was married to Sir Carstons?”

Devry nodded in the affirmative.

“He has been described as a brutal man. Do you know if he
was the same with his wife and child?”

Devry took a deep breath and the vein in his neck pulsated
visibly. “Emilia was a free spirit. I would like to believe she might have left
Sir Carstons once the child was born. I
’
ll never know, of
course.”

Johns decided to change direction in his questioning. “You
said you had gone to see your mother the day Sir Carstons was killed. A
stepmother I presume?”

“Yes, Carissa is my stepmother but I call her mother. She
has been like one to me since I was twelve. At first I resented her and made
her life a hell, but she would bring me treats and knew how much I loved books.
If there was ever a woman who truly loved me, it
’
s
Carissa. I
’
ve been blessed to have her in my life.”
He finished with a
barely audible sigh.

“Mr. Devry where were you last night before Mr. Cousins was
shot?”

Devry gave Johns a confused look. “I had gone up to my room.
My head was killing me and I wanted to be done with the party. It was only when
I heard the sirens coming up the road that I woke up.”

“You had fallen asleep?”
Johns asked.

“I guess so because I remember coming to and hearing the
noises outside. I got up and saw the ambulance and the party guests out on the
lawn. I went downstairs and ran into Mrs. Thyme. She was frantic and she told
me what had happened. I made a dash for the garden but they had already put
Piers on the gurney.”

“You never heard the shot?”

“No. My windows were closed but my room is on the side of
the house opposite the garden. I must have been sound asleep.”

“I have one more question. Where did you go after you saw
Cousins put into the ambulance?”

“I went back upstairs to my room. The whole evening, well in
fact, the last three days have been a great strain.”

Johns had noticed how much of an effort the man had been
making during the interview to repress some type of intense emotion. “Mr.
Devry, why have the last few days been particularly stressful for you?”

Devry took a deep breath and let it out.

“Carissa is fragile and there are extenuating circumstances
that have nothing to do with all of this but they are weighing on my mind…”
Devry
’
s
hands trembled.

He looked up at Johns and quickly asked, “Do you have a
cigarette?”

“
I don
’
t smoke but
my sergeant does. Hey Cross! Come in here a minute,”
Johns yelled.

The sergeant came into the room. “Yes, Sir?”

“
Got a cigarette?
”
Johns asked.

“
Sure do, Sir.
”
Cross offered Johns his pack and Johns
selected two from the middle.

“Thanks. That
’
ll be all.”

Johns offered Devry the cigarettes and handed him a lighter.

Devry lit a cigarette and inhaled the smoke. He looked
directly at Johns and smiled. “Thank you, Chief Inspector.”

“I think we
’
re done here, but keep in
mind, Mr. Devry, that this is a murder investigation and in the event we need
to get in touch with you, it
’
s important you make yourself
available. You do understand?”

“Of course. I
’
ll leave my address. You
have my number.”
Devry got up.
“No more questions then, Chief Inspector?”

“No, not for now. I
’
ll have Sergeant
Cross take your statement. We will also be taking a sample from your hands.
Need to see if there’s any gun powder residue on you.”

Johns said this last part while studying Devry
’
s
face.

Devry didn
’
t hesitate. “That
’
s fine. Do what you need to.”

He stubbed out his cigarette, thanked Johns, and followed Sergeant
Cross down the hall.

Johns contemplated Devry
’
s retreating
figure. It was time to check out some background stories. Best to start with
Devry
’
s.

Chapter 18

HELEN SAT ON A CHAIR while Martha was comfortably propped
up on a gurney in the middle of the radiology wing at the hospital in Wayford.
Martha looked comfortable and content with herself. Since they had arrived, she
had been charming people with her sweet smiles and referring to nurses as “
Sweetie
”
and “Honey.”
Martha
liked to spread it on thick especially when there was a possibility for needles
or painful procedures in her immediate future.

Both she and Helen were feeling surprisingly energetic
despite the exciting events of the previous evening.

“Mrs. Littleword are you ready to go into your screening?”
a young nurse
asked. Martha noticed that she looked younger than Martha
’
s
own daughter, Kate.

“I am, Honey,”
Martha said trying to exude cheerfulness.

“Martha, I
’
m going to check on Piers
while you
’
re in your screening. I
’
ll
be back here before you come out. Do you need anything?”
Helen asked.

“No, you run along. I
’
ll see you in a
bit. Oh yeah, give him a hug for me,”
Martha said with a wink. “Might do you both some good.”

“
Oh good Lord.
”
Helen laughed.

IT TOOK ABOUT TEN MINUTES of wandering down hallways and
following arrows to find the critical patients. A nurse stopped Helen to ask if
she needed help.

“Yes, I
’
m looking for a gentleman
brought in last night with a gunshot wound. His name is Piers Cousins. May I
ask how he
’
s doing today?”

“He
’
s stabilized and in a room on the
second floor. The nurses upstairs will be able to let you know if he
’
s allowed visitors.”

Helen took the elevator to the second floor and stopped at
the nurses
’
station which was being manned by a bulky woman in her sixties. Her
short, grey hairdo was reminiscent of the fight promoter, Don King’s. She didn
’
t look up when Helen asked if she might visit Cousins but
instead put her pen down with exaggerated slowness. Her firm manner clearly
conveyed to Helen that she was attempting to bridle her annoyance.

“I
’
ll tell you what I
’
ve
told the last three women who wanted to visit Mr. Cousins,”
she said with
menace. “He isn
’
t ready for visitors but you can come back
in the morning and get in line with the rest of his devotees if you wish.”

Helen bridled at the haughtiness of the woman’s tone. She
read “Edda Davis”
on
her name tag. Helen firmly put her purse down on the desk.

“There is no reason to be snippy about it, Ms. Edda. I
wanted to make sure he
’
s doing okay,”
she said slowly
back with one eyebrow arched.

The short nurse stood up and Helen realized it wasn
’
t that she was short but that her chair was undersized. When
the woman rose to her full height of around six feet, she was a formidable
female.

“
My break is in
…,”
she looked down at
her watch, “now. So, if you will excuse me.”
She turned her broad, muscular back on Helen and marched out of the
nurses
’
area.

Helen stood there with a slightly open mouth watching Ms.
Edda
’
s departing backside.
Relieved
she hadn’t been put to any tests of courage, she stood there for a moment
hesitating about what to do. She remembered how last night she had decided to
be more adventurous. Taking stock of the situation, she made up her mind.
Quickly looking over the counter, she noted Piers
’
room number
on the nurses
’
assignment sheet and then swiftly moved down the hall.

Finding his room, she peeked inside. There he was, asleep in
his bed with tubes and machines everywhere. Helen wished she hadn
’
t
intruded but then his eyes opened and his gaze locked with hers.

“Helen?”
he asked sleepily.

“Yes, Piers. I wanted to see how you were doing. I
’
m not supposed to be here.”

“
Come in,
”
he said trying to sit up. “
I won
’
t rat you out to Ms. Davis.”

Helen came in and sat down near his bed. “How are you
feeling? Are you sure this won
’
t tire you out?”

He readjusted himself and winced when he had to move his
upper body. “They patched me up. I was lucky because the bullet didn
’
t hit anything too important. I
’
ll have a
great scar to impress the ladies with.”
He winked at her.

She laughed. “Honestly, Piers, I don
’
t
think you need one more thing in your repertoire to impress women.”

“Depends on the woman. Some are impressed with wealth and
others with power. What impresses you, Helen?”

“Integrity. Nothing sexier than integrity at this point in
my life. But, you know, that
’
s the hardest quality to find
sometimes. It
’
s not the mistakes that are made, it
’
s the character a person shows when they
’
re
faced with their mistakes.”

Piers studied her and smiled. “You
’
re a
straight shooter, Helen. That can be disconcerting and certainly not in my
field of experience with most women.”

“
Piers,
”
she said in a tone of complete honesty, “women, and men for that matter,
sometimes let themselves be seduced by things that puff up their own egos. Like
I said, you don
’
t need one more thing to impress the
ladies. All that probably gets in the way of knowing you.”

She said all this in a gentle, friendly manner, but Helen
decided to throw him a bone to make him feel better. She laughed. “Okay. You
’
re handsome, rich, wonderfully well-mannered and now you
’
ll have a great scar. You
’
re
a stud. Feel better?
”

Piers
’
face broke
out into a big smile and he chuckled. “Ouch! Oh, that hurts. What are you
trying to do? Kill me?”

Helen’s smile melted to a thin line. “No. I
’
m
not, but someone most definitely tried to last night. At least they made it
look that way.”

“What an odd thing to say, Helen.”
Piers lay back on his pillow and
shutting his eyes.

Helen admired the lines of his face. With his eyes shut, he
was easier to look at directly. “You never know, Piers, maybe they wanted to
get you out of the way.”

“
Well, I don
’
t
like their methods.”

Helen was quiet for a moment. “Why didn
’
t
you like Sir Carstons?”

Piers
’
eyes opened
and flashed briefly with a note of hostility before sadness crept into his
expression. Looking out into the sunny day, he said with vehemence, “Sir Alan
Carstons was a vindictive, cruel man and he made innocent people pay for his
insecurities and lack of a soul.”

“Tell me how you really feel,”
Helen said, caustically trying to defuse his anger.

His face relaxed and he flashed those blue eyes at her.

She quickly shifted tacks. “How did you ever get mixed up
with him?”

He didn’t immediately answer her, instead he pointed towards
the other side of the room.

“Helen, would you please bring me my wallet? It
’
s over on the table.”

She retrieved the wallet. Once he held it, he presented her
with a picture of a small boy about six years old. The lad was golden-haired
and holding a bubble-making pipe. There were bubbles in the air around his
flung-back head and open, smiling mouth. One pudgy hand grabbed at the floating
bubbles.

“A picture, they say, is worth a thousand words,”
he said.

She could imagine the sounds of a delighted child
’
s laughter and knew in an instant that it must be Piers
’
child.
“
Yours?
”

“Yes, and no,”
he said. “Suffice it to say, with Carstons
’
death, my
life at The Grange is easier, but I am not so sure what this means for my suit
to have custody of my son.”

“Your son? How does Carstons fit into that picture?”

“Simply put, I had an affair with his beautiful and gentle
wife, Emilia, and she became pregnant. I know the boy is mine but Carstons
would never allow for a DNA test. I
’
ve been trying for
years through every available legal channel to force his consent.”

“What about the child
’
s mother? Isn
’
t the child with her?”
Helen asked.

“His name is Emerson. No, she
’
s dead.
Emilia is dead. She died giving birth and I haven
’
t been
allowed to see him.”

Helen understood the tragedy of the situation. What if the
child had been Piers
’
? What if Piers had killed Carstons
to expedite his suit to get the child? Helen knew nothing could stand between
her and her children. Granted, they were all grown, but what a horrible
situation for both of the men not to mention the child who was still so young.

“How did you get the picture?”
she asked.

“I paid a detective to find the park where his nanny takes
him to play. Then I sat down and waited every day for two weeks. I pretended to
read a paper while he blew bubbles only ten feet away. It was wonderful but
also excruciating seeing him but not being able to be with him as his father.
It made me even more determined to know him.”

Then he added, “It was easy to get pictures.”

“Did it make you want Carstons dead?”
The words weren’t supposed to be said
out loud. She slightly cringed at her own words.

He didn’t look at her but continued to study the photo she
had handed back to him. “Yes, I hated him. He was in his own way a murderer
because he drained the life out of tender things.”
He looked up at Helen. “I didn’t kill
him, though, and I wouldn’t want his blood on my hands. Carstons was the kind
of person who would be pleased if he was the reason you found yourself in hell.”

Helen thought for a moment and then wanted to somehow make
up for prying into his affairs. “
Piers, I
’
m
sorry. I hope things work out for you. You
’
ve got so much
on your plate. Martha and I need to go back to Healy and wondered if we could
pick up anything for you?”

His mood brightened. “I would love my laptop. Also, see if
Mrs. Thyme could send me a care basket. She makes the best potato soup in the
world. The food here is terrible.”

Helen thought to herself he was like a little boy who wanted
a treat. It was impossible to resist. She patted his hand. “I
’
m
on it, and by the way, when we go back to Healy I
’
m
thinking about looking for the jerk who pushed Martha down the stairs.”

“Do what?”
Piers said sitting up in his bed. He winced and held his side, asking in
a croaking voice, “Martha was pushed down the stairs?”

“Go slow there, cowboy. Yeah, I should have dropped that
bomb a bit easier, huh? After you were taken to the hospital, Martha went
upstairs to get some aspirin. Someone came up from behind and pushed her. She
’
s fine though. No stopping Martha.”
Helen smiled and shook her head.

Piers laughed. “Yeah, Martha is a character. I wouldn
’
t want to be on her bad side. I think she would be the perfect
defender of the weak. There
’
s a lot of heart there.”

Helen cocked her head and gave him a warm smile and a tender
look. “Piers Cousins, you are a sweet man.”

“You say that like you weren
’
t sure
before,”
he
said with a short laugh.

“Be careful, Piers. Martha is on a mission and I
’
ve signed up, too. We are going to find the culprit who pushed
her down the stairs. Who knows? Maybe we
’
ll find your
villain, too.”
She
pointed to his bandaged wound.

She picked up her purse, told Piers to take a long nap, then
slipped out of the room.

Making sure Ms. Edda wasn
’
t back from
her lunch, she quickly walked toward the stairwell door. She made her way down
the stairs to find Martha and maybe some well-deserved lunch.