Harriett (42 page)

“
What about my brooch though? I mean, I am not dead. You must
have known I would report it missing.”

“
Ha! That was pretty and just sitting in plain view on the
dresser. Being ever the gentleman, I allowed Babette out of the
room first. How the stool fell over God only knows, but it is of
little consequence. With Babette on her way to check her room, I
had the opportunity to swipe it and so I put it in my pocket with
nobody being any wiser. I sold it for a good price too. With
Hepplethwaite and Humphries in the house, and everyone questioning
their honesty, it was easy to sit back as a respectable pillar of
the community and allow all of the fools to point their fingers in
the clairvoyant’s direction.”

Harriett
had no intention of pointing out to Alan that the brooch was now in
the possession of Great Tipton Constabulary. “But why do you think
it is my fault? I haven’t had any influence in the subjects people
talk about. I had no idea you had been doing this. Why involve
me?”

“
Because you gossiped with Hugo Montague!” Alan shouted. The
booming echo of his voice rang hollowly in her ears and she
instinctively flinched at the raw fury on the man’s face. He
pointed one long finger at her. “You were going there on the
afternoon you found him for a gossip and a cup of tea. You did it
most days and don’t deny it. Do you really expect me to believe
that you were sitting in Hugo’s shop discussing sewing patterns?”
He snorted and pushed away from the coffin to stand
upright.

Harriett
instinctively took a step back. A shiver of cold air swept down her
back and snapped her out of her daze as effectively as a bucket of
iced water. She swallowed and stared at him. “There was no need to
kill him,” she whispered accusingly. “He was an old man who got
lonely. I didn’t discuss gossip with him. We always talked about
ourselves, and the shops. Whoever Hugo gossiped with, it wasn’t me.
I have no idea how many people you have stolen from, but if you
didn’t want them talking about it then you shouldn’t have stolen
from them in the first place.”

Her chin
lifted and she straightened her shoulders. She had no intention of
being cowed by this man; killer or not. She knew that whatever
happened in the next few hours, Mark would get to the bottom of it.
He would unearth Alan Bentwhistle as the thief and the killer, and
ensure that he faced his day in a court of law. She could only hope
that Mark wouldn’t need to add her murder onto the list of
charges.

She
swallowed the lump of bile that rose in her throat. For all of her
life, she had wanted; dreamed of having someone like Mark in her
life. He was handsome, intelligent, caring, and everything she
could have hoped for in the person whom she would spend the rest of
her life with. Now, cruel hands of fate were putting everything at
risk. If she allowed Alan Bentwhistle to get the better of her,
everything she had ever dreamed of would disappear in a cloud of
dust. She couldn’t allow it to happen.

“
I am going to promise you here and now, Alan, I will ensure
that you meet with justice. Your crimes are beyond deplorable. On
this, you seriously will not stop me repeating what I have learned
today.” Her voice was soft and calm, and in stark contrast to the
emotions that raged through her.

She
didn’t stop to think and spun on her heel. Three steps and she
slammed the door behind her only to gasp in dismay to find that
there was no lock. She grabbed the dresser and began to drag it
across the doorway, ignoring the shouts, thumps and rattle of the
knob. She heaved and shoved, pushed and grunted until it blocked
the entrance. With hands that trembled, she swept a vase off the
dresser, and threw it at the window. She clapped her hands over
hear ears against the sound of glass exploding around the kitchen
and, moments later, began to pick the worst of the shards from
around the frame. The cuts to her hands were insignificant against
the need to stay alive.

As she
worked, she became aware of the loud scrape of wood against the
stone floor and knew that Alan had started to push the door open.
She climbed onto a chair and tried to clamber out of the window.
Her scream was silenced by hard hands around her ankles, which
relentlessly drew her back into the icy church. She twisted and
fought, gasped and tried to scream but to no avail. Her strength
was no match for the ruthless determination of a maniacal killer.
Desperate fingers clawed against the cruel edges of the window
frame as she fought for freedom. Hands grabbed her waist and, for
one precious moment, she thought she had won the fight when those
hands disappeared. She placed both feet on the floor and tried to
look behind her to see where he had gone when pain suddenly
exploded in her head and the world went black.

Mark
scowled at the closed door of 29 Daventry Street. Nobody was at
home. It was decidedly odd given that he had told Harriett to stay
at the tea shop until someone arrived to escort her to the church
to do the flowers.

“
Where do you think she has gone?” Isaac came out of the
alleyway at the side of the house and shook his head. “There is
nobody home.”

“
I don’t know. I can understand the tea shop being closed
given that there is a funeral in the village. Charles is
undoubtedly in the pub, but I wonder if Babette, and Harriett, are
in the church. They were going to prepare the flowers for the
funeral this afternoon, or at least Harriett was.”

Mark
felt his temper begin to bubble at the realisation that Harriett
had gone against his instructions and left the tea shop without
him.

“
Let’s go and check the church.” His deep scowl remained in
place as he stomped down the street toward the main road that ran
through the village. The church was located on the opposite side of
the road that led to Great Tipton and the short distance was
covered in record time. Tension hovered in the air as the men
scoured the rather too quiet village. “Where do you think everyone
has gone?”

“
Most of the village will be at the funeral. Hugo Montague was
born and raised here, so was a village stalwart. The children will
be at school, but most of the businesses will be closed as a mark
of respect. The business owners will attend the funeral and the
wake, so I think everyone has gone home for now.”

The
village was almost deathly quiet. Their boots rang hollowly on the
uneven pavement as they headed toward the old Norman
church.

“
Now what do you think he is doing?” Isaac whispered. He
placed a hand on Mark’s arm and nodded toward the far end of the
churchyard toward Alan Bentwhistle, who disappeared around the back
of the huge stone building. Mark felt the small hairs on the back
of his neck stand on end. Had he been dragging something? In the
quietness of the afternoon, a loud scraping noise echoed hollowly
around the trees. The men crept silently into the graveyard. Isaac
took the pathway that led around one side of the church while Mark
took the other. At the back of the church Mark stopped, and stared
in horror at the trees at the far end of the graveyard. Fresh
mounds of soil sat next to two recently dug graves located just
beneath the tree line. He watched Alan drag a heavy casket in that
direction. Did he intend to bury it? He glanced at Isaac who sidled
toward him.

“
Go and check inside the church and see if you can see
Harriett. Keep quiet though, I don’t want to forewarn him. If you
see anyone on the main street, get them to fetch Fred and some
men.”

Deep in
his gut, Mark knew that the casket Alan was dragging contained a
body. Whether that person was still alive or dead had yet to be
seen. Had there already been a third murder? Where was Harriett? He
quickly closed his mind to the possibility that she might be the
one encased in that wooden box. His fists clenched into tight balls
of fury at the thought that he might already be too late to save
her. He knew that he had to force all thoughts of his personal
devastation to one side and blank out the awful realisation that
Harriett might already be dead. It was the most difficult thing he
had ever had to do in his life, but owed it to her to keep as calm
and in control as possible. Mark straightened his shoulders and dug
deep for all of his years of professional experience. He watched
Bentwhistle slide the coffin ever closer to one of the recently dug
holes in the ground.

Did he
intend to hide the coffin with plans to return later to bury it
somewhere else? Mark had no intention of waiting to find out. If
there was someone in that box, and they were still alive, it was
imperative that they were released urgently.

The
grave look on Isaac’s face when he rejoined him told Mark
everything he needed to know. His heart felt like a leaden weight
in his chest and he, temporarily, couldn’t breathe. The churchyard
swam alarmingly and he struggled to focus his thoughts on anything
other than Harriett’s beloved face.

“
The door to the ante room beside the altar has been kicked
in. Someone inside tried to block the door with a dresser, but it
was shoved out of the way. By the looks of it, there has been some
kind of struggle. Someone has thrown something out of the window,
and there is glass everywhere.” He studied Mark’s profile. He
couldn’t tell the man that there was also a liberal splatter of
blood over practically all of the surfaces.

Both men
watched Bentwhistle for a little while longer. The trees would
provide adequate cover for the funeral director, if he chose to
run. Mark knew he had to be careful. His eyes remained glued on the
coffin Alan had at his feet. Isaac had been his friend, and
colleague, for many years now and Mark knew when he wasn’t telling
him the full story.

“
She is in the coffin, isn’t she?” Mark’s voice was
deadly.

“
I think she is, yes.”

Mark
nodded. “You go left and I will take the right. Don’t let that
bastard get away.”

“
Someone has gone to fetch Fred and some men from the
pub.”

Mark
nodded. He couldn’t speak past the white hot rage that was building
with such ferocity that Mark wasn’t sure whether it was a good idea
if he got his hands on Alan Bentwhistle or not. The man had already
murdered two people in cold blood. He had clearly targeted Harriett
for some reason only known to himself. If Harriett was his third
victim, Mark was going to make his life’s mission to make damned
sure that the man never saw daylight again.

CHAPTER
TWENTY
TWO

He
continued to watch Alan for several moments while he tried to
control the need to exact retribution. He motioned to Fred, and the
men he had rounded up, to keep quiet and waited only until they had
fanned out behind him. As soon as everyone was in place, he stepped
forward.

“
Well, well, Alan. I think before you have a funeral you need
to have a service and allow the family to be involved, don’t
you?”

He
watched Alan turn to stare at him with wild panic in his eyes. As
soon as he saw Mark and the men in the churchyard, he dropped the
end of the coffin he held. It hit the ground with a resounding thud
but neither man paid any attention to it. Their eyes locked over
the wooden lid.

“
Why Harriett? What has she ever done to you?” Mark struggled
to even say her name. He wanted to pound Bentwhistle out of the
way, wrench the lid off and see for himself if she was
alright.

“
I had to shut her up. She is a gossip you see.” Bentwhistle’s
voice was lost and confused, as though even he couldn’t understand
what had happened, but Mark wasn’t going to fall for it. The
‘little boy lost’ tone of the man’s voice was contradictory to the
ruthlessness in the man’s eyes.

“
Harriett isn’t a gossip.”

“
She works in the tea shop. That is the biggest gossip house
this side of Christendom. Everyone goes there for tea and the
latest scandal. I don’t know why they bother with the bloody
cakes.” He threw a contemptuous glare at Charles, who had joined
the men from the pub there to lend a hand.

“
So what do you have to hide, Bentwhistle? The fact that you
have killed two people in cold blood or that you are nearly
bankrupt and have been stealing from your dead customers to help
pay your way?”

Bentwhistle remained quiet. Mark watched a flicker of defeat
enter the man’s eyes and his shoulders slump, but it didn’t last.
Whatever the man had briefly felt was ruthlessly brushed aside and
replaced with arrogant determination. Mark knew that he wasn’t
going to surrender easily.

“
There is nothing you can prove.”

“
I am afraid you are wrong. There is the vase from Hugo
Montague’s that you couldn’t help but get your hands on. It was
quite an eye catching thing but, unfortunately for you, relatively
easy to find in a pawn shop. The owner of the shop who purchased it
from you described you perfectly. Then there is Harriett’s brooch.
You were very clever, but also rather too greedy.”

Mark was
aware of Isaac’s eyes on him, but made no attempt to hide the
disgust and contempt that coursed through him. “You see, everyone
in the house confirmed that you, Babette and Harriett, were the
only ones who went upstairs that evening. Given that it was
Harriett’s brooch, it would hardly be her who was the thief.
Babette doesn’t need the money, and so that left you. It has been a
little confusing to try to understand why you felt the need to kill
two innocent people in the village; especially people who have done
you no harm.”