A Forgotten Shadow Page 4

  “I think you’ve pulled, Chief,” he whispered.

  “Oh, shut up,” snapped Shadow, then cleared his throat and approached the two young men, who were now looking a little wary as they continued to sip their brandies. “Excuse me, gentlemen, my name is Chief Inspector Shadow and this is Sergeant Chang. May we ask you a few questions?”

  The young man Bet had addressed as Giles stood up and politely held out his hand. “Of course. I’m Giles Greenwood. I found Flynn’s body.”

  His companion followed suit.

  “Fred Houlston. I was loader for Sir Charles today.” Shadow and Jimmy sat down opposite the two young men on the wooden bench.

  “Can you tell me what happened today?” asked Shadow.

  “It was just a normal day. I was the loader for Lord Eastwold, but His Grace was getting tired of waiting for Mr FitzAllan to return from his phone call, so Dad sent me to look for him,” replied Giles.

  “Had the shoot stopped for Mr FitzAllan’s phone call?”

  “No, not exactly. We’d had lunch in the old chapel. There’s always a table and chairs set up in there on shoot days, so we can eat in the shade and the food doesn’t get spoilt in the sun. We bring a hamper with us from the castle kitchens you see,” Giles explained. “We’d finished eating and were heading back when Flynn’s phone rang. He went to answer it in the copse, and we went back to the butts.”

  “Why didn’t he answer it and keep walking with the rest of you?” asked Jimmy.

  Giles shrugged.

  “The signal is better in the copse I guess, or maybe he wanted some privacy.”

  “Was there anyone else nearby when you found Mr FitzAllan?” asked Shadow.

  “No, everyone was up on the moor.”

  Shadow turned his attention to Fred. “You said you were Sir Charles’s loader. Who was Mr FitzAllan’s loader?”

  “He didn’t have one. He only had a single gun, you see. The other gentlemen each had a pair. The loader loads the gun they aren’t using to save time. Wilf was Lady Eastwold’s loader and Rory was with His Grace.”

  “Where are they now?” asked Shadow.

  “They went home. They both live on farms up on the moors. I don’t think either of them saw much. As soon as Dad saw the body, he told them to keep the dogs away, so they didn’t disturb anything,” explained Giles.

  “We believe the pellets that killed Mr FitzAllan were quite small in size. Does that mean anything to either of you?”

  “The cartridges Mr FitzAllan used would have the smallest pellets,” replied Fred. “His gun is a twenty-gauge, the others were all using twelve-gauge guns.”

  Shadow nodded as the young man confirmed what Ben and Ollie had said.

  “How did he seem to you?”

  The two young men exchanged a glance.

  “Same as always,” said Giles.

  “In a good mood,” added Fred. “He was having a decent day, probably hit more birds than anyone else despite only having the one gun. Why? Do you think he might have killed himself?”

  “We are still making inquiries,” replied Shadow smoothly. “Would you say he was popular generally within the village? Did he have any enemies that you know of?”

  “No, he was a nice guy. Generous, always tipped well after a shoot,” said Giles.

  “Better than Eastwold,” muttered Fred into his pint.

  “My girlfriend Clancy works for him. She says he’s a great boss,” added Giles.

  “The ladies certainly seemed to like him,” agreed Fred.

  At that moment, Bet returned with their drinks and placed them down on the table.

  “Thank you,” said Shadow, careful not to make eye contact.

  “Will you be eating with us too? There’s a free table inside and we’ve got some lovely lamb chops on as a special tonight,” she asked. Shadow’s mouth began to water. He was torn between his growling stomach and wanting to avoid the slightly terrifying Bet. Jimmy stood up with a knowing look.

  “I’ll ring Sophie and let her know I won’t be back for a while, Chief,” he said.

  Shadow picked up their drinks, thanked Fred and Giles, followed Bet inside and took a seat at the table by the window. He inhaled the appealing aroma unique to a country pub: a perfect combination of hand-pulled beer, home-cooked food and a hint of damp dog. It was busy inside with most tables taken and a group of older farmers in flat caps standing at the bar. He couldn’t help noticing there was a slight lull in people’s conversations when he made his entrance. In one corner, huddled together, were some of the young grooms from FitzAllan’s stables. They were all drinking pints of Guinness and at least two were still dabbing their eyes with tissues.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Shadow could see Bet bearing down on him with two menus in her hand and he felt a great sense of relief when at that moment Jimmy entered the pub and intercepted her. He was unusually quiet as he sat down and handed over a menu.

  “Anything wrong?” asked Shadow as he took a long grateful drink of his beer.

  “Not really, but Sophie wasn’t answering her phone, so I had to leave her a message,” explained Jimmy looking a little worried as he took his seat opposite Shadow.

  “Maybe she’s out on a call,” suggested Shadow, who was now only half listening as he read the menu and considered the other specials that were chalked up on the blackboard behind the bar. He decided on the lamb chops and sent Jimmy to place their order before Bet could make another appearance. Then nodded as his sergeant gestured that he was going outside to try phoning Sophie again. Through the window, Shadow watched as Clancy arrived and wrapped her arms around Giles. The two of them waved goodbye to Fred, then released the dogs from the Land Rover and made their way across the road to their cottage. He looked around the pub and wondered how different his life could have been if his father had lived and they’d stayed in the village. Would the people drinking here tonight be his friends? Would he belong rather than feel like an outsider, treated with suspicion? Jimmy returned looking much happier.

  “It’s okay, Chief, she’d left me a message saying she missed me because she was trying to talk to Donaldson. She is on call tonight, but I think she was hoping he might let her observe his post-mortem.”

  “Well, I can’t fault her optimism,” replied Shadow, settling back in his chair, while Jimmy scrolled through the photos on his phone of the village and surrounding countryside.

  “Don’t you think it would be great to raise a family around here, Chief?”

  Shadow raised an eyebrow. “That’s the second time you’ve mentioned becoming a father. Is there something you want to tell me, Sergeant?”

  Jimmy looked puzzled, then flushed in embarrassment. “Oh no, nothing like that, Chief. We want to get married before we think about having children. I was only planning ahead. It would be great if we could have one of each, you know a boy and girl, and we could take them on long country walks and bike rides. I could teach them how to fish and we could get a puppy.”

  “Do you know how to fish?” interrupted Shadow in surprise. This was a talent his sergeant had so far remained uncharacteristically quiet about.

  Jimmy shifted in his seat. “Well, no,” he admitted, “but that’s what I meant—living out here it’s the sort of thing you could learn.”

  Shadow shook his head and took another sip of his pint. “Well, I’m certainly not an expert in these matters, but you might want to run all these ideas past Sophie before you make too many plans.”

  “Oh, Sophie will be great at all that. She’ll be an amazing mum.”

  At that moment, Bet appeared with their food. “Aren’t you going to interrogate me?” she asked placing the plates down in front of them with a flourish.

  “Not unless you can think of anyone who might wish Mr FitzAllan harm?” replied Shadow as he placed the paper napkin on his knee.

  Bet crossed her arms over her ample chest and wrinkled her noise. “No, Flynn was a lovely man. I never once heard him raise his voice, not like that
wife of his. Even when Plum was once in here haranguing him about horse racing being cruel, he always kept his cool.”

  “Plum?” queried Shadow.

  “Lady Victoria DeVere, the duke’s sister. Everyone calls her Plum,” explained Bet.

  “I see, well thank you for the information,” said Shadow, hoping she would leave now, so he could enjoy his chops in peace.

  “Always happy to help, Handsome.” She gave him a wink before wiggling off again. Shadow picked up his knife and fork, ignoring the sniggering coming from Jimmy’s direction.

  *

  About an hour later, they left the pub and returned to their car. With a stomach full of lamb chops, new potatoes and beer, Shadow was looking forward to a snooze on his way home, but his sergeant, who seemed allergic to silence, cleared his throat ominously.

  “I hope you didn’t think I was being tactless, Chief,” he said.

  “You? Never?”

  “When I mentioned raising a family here, after what Sybil said back at the castle. I didn’t want to say anything in the pub, but I was going to ask you about what happened to your father?” asked Jimmy, who had also lost his father when he was young. “I know he died when you were only a kid. Did he really live here?”

  “Yes, he was the constable in Kirkdale, back in the days when every village had its own police station. We lived in Giles’s cottage,” said Shadow, pointing across the road. “One evening he went to investigate reports of poachers on the estate, and he was shot dead. His killer was never found.”

  “Wow,” replied Jimmy looking shocked. “So you really are a local! You’ve never mentioned him before. Don’t you like talking about it?”

  “No.”

  They sat in an awkward silence for a few moments.

  Finally, Jimmy spoke again. “I was wondering, why isn’t the plural of grouse grice, you know like mouse and mice, Chief?” he asked.

  Shadow sighed and closed his eyes. It was going to be a long drive back to York.

  Chapter Three

  Across 1. The upper class to the coast I carry (11 letters)

  His prediction was correct. Thanks to the tractors working late to bring in the harvest, and Shadow’s insistence that Jimmy didn’t overtake them on the narrow lanes, it was almost eleven o’clock when they arrived back at the station. As the two detectives walked through the reception area, Shadow sensed something was wrong. There was a subdued air about the place.

  “What’s going on?” he asked Tom, the constable who was manning the front desk.

  “It’s Sergeant Hedley, sir. He’s been arrested on suspicion of causing death by dangerous driving,” replied Tom whose young face was white with concern.

  “What?” asked Shadow in astonishment. Sergeant George Hedley was in charge of the records office. He was the station’s longest-serving officer and one of the few people Shadow could call a friend.

  “He’s downstairs in the custody suite, sir,” explained Tom. Shadow hurried down the stone steps to what had once been the cellars of the medieval guildhall. He marched straight up to the custody desk.

  “Tom tells me you are holding George down here,” he began angrily, but the custody sergeant held up his hands as if to defend himself.

  “None of us wanted to, Chief, but the chief constable insisted.”

  Shadow paused. Chief Constable Maxwell was usually based in Northallerton at the North Yorkshire Police Headquarters.

  “What on earth was she doing here?” he asked.

  “Well, she arrived early this evening. She wanted a tour of the station. Apparently, she’s interviewing applicants to replace Superintendent Branston and wanted to familiarise herself with the place.”

  Shadow snorted. Familiarise herself? He couldn’t recall her ever visiting the station before. Superintendent Branston had taken unexpected early retirement a few weeks ago, due to his wife’s ill health. Shadow and Branston had maintained an excellent working relationship over the years, achieved largely by staying out of each other’s way. He had a feeling the equitable balance between uniform and CID wouldn’t last long if Branston’s successor was appointed by the chief constable.

  “Anyway,” continued the custody sergeant, “she heard about the shooting up at Kirkdale, so she seemed keen to hang around, then we got the call about George. We’d have let him go home while we investigated, but she insisted we follow proper procedure. I didn’t want to keep him in, Chief.”

  Shadow nodded. It was clearly not the custody sergeant’s fault.

  “All right, I’ll go and talk to him. Where is he? You haven’t locked him up, have you?” he asked as the sound of one of the regular drunks singing echoed out of the cell closest to them.

  “Of course not, Chief,” replied the custody sergeant looking hurt. “He’s waiting in the meeting room.”

  Shadow was relieved George wasn’t in a cell or one of the interview rooms. The meeting room was a less formal space used to speak to vulnerable witnesses or grieving relatives. He opened the door and found his friend looking forlorn as he sat alone on one of the sofas. George’s face was pale and worried when he stood up to greet Shadow. He was wearing an open-necked shirt and chinos. Somehow, Shadow thought he looked older out of his uniform.

  “What happened?” he asked pulling a chair close to his old friend and sitting down next to him.

  George shook his head slowly. “I just was driving home, John. Carol and I had been babysitting for Harry while his mum and dad went out for a meal. It’s their anniversary, you see. Anyway, I was driving past the Knavesmire, opposite the Lucky Horseshoe. I was doing less than thirty, and a fox darted out from nowhere. I swerved and hit what I thought was a pile of black bin bags on the edge of the road—you know, left out for the dustbin lorry—but it turned out there was someone lying in the middle of them. I knew something was wrong the second I hit him, but I didn’t see him, and I swear I hadn’t been drinking.”

  “Of course you hadn’t. Who said you had?” demanded Shadow, furious on his friend’s behalf.

  “They had to breathalyse me and take a blood sample. It’s procedure—you know that. The chief constable was here. She said if there was an inquiry or a criminal case to answer, we couldn’t be seen to have acted inappropriately because a fellow officer was involved.”

  George’s voice caught on the words criminal case. Shadow reached out and placed a hand on the shoulder of his older colleague.

  “Look, try not to worry. Where’s Carol now? Does she know what’s going on?”

  “Yes, I called her. She wanted to come down here with me, but I told her to go home. Tom drove her back. I was frightened I might get put in cuffs and I couldn’t have let her see me like that.”

  “They didn’t did they?” Shadow was feeling more and more outraged by the second. It was one thing to show impartiality, but didn’t over thirty years’ service count for anything?

  “No, no, everyone has been very understanding but I was so shaken up I didn’t know what was going to happen.”

  “I’ll go and get you a fresh cup of tea and see if we can get you out of here. Have you spoken to a solicitor or a union rep?”

  George looked startled. “You don’t think it will come to that do you, John? I thought they’d get the test results back and I could go home.”

  Shadow stood up and patted George on the shoulder again.

  “You’re probably right. I’ll go and chase up the lab, see what’s taking so long. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  *

  When Shadow stepped out of the meeting room, he found Jimmy waiting for him.

  “How is he, Chief?”

  “How do you think?” snapped Shadow, his anger at George’s treatment was making him even more irritable than usual. “Find out where his test results are and what’s happening with the post-mortem on the man he hit. Then get someone to bring him a cup of tea.”

  “I’m already on it, Chief,” replied Jimmy as he began tapping numbers into his mobile phone, “and I
’ve told Sophie we’ll meet her at the mortuary.”

  For the first time that day, Shadow was relieved that Sophie hadn’t been called to the shooting incident, and that she was on duty now instead. He very much doubted Donaldson would have dealt with tonight’s victim so quickly.

  However, his relief, was short-lived when half an hour later, he saw Sophie’s worried expression. They found her at the washroom of the mortuary removing her protective clothing and washing her hands, having just completed the post-mortem.

  “Not good news I’m afraid, Chief,” she said. “The victim was still alive when George hit him. He had been struck on the head with a blunt object. It had fractured his skull and there was a lot of bleeding in the brain. Had he been left there he would probably have died of his injuries, but he was unconscious, not dead when George’s car hit him. The impact caused twelve rib fractures and…” She glanced up at Shadow who was turning pale. She knew he was notoriously squeamish. “Well, let’s just say there were multiple internal injuries. I’m sorry it’s not better news.”

  “It’s not your fault, Sophie. Anything else? Any sign he’d been involved in a fight?”

  “No, I don’t think so. There aren’t any bruises or abrasions to his knuckles or anywhere else on his body.”

  “Had he taken anything?”

  “No drugs, but alcohol levels in his blood were very high, the equivalent of being four times over the drink drive limit.”

  “That fits in with what the landlord at the Lucky Horseshoe told uniform, Chief,” added Jimmy. “He said the victim had been drinking in there for hours.”

  “So could he have passed out from the alcohol and then hit his head or was he definitely hit by something?” asked Shadow, wondering if there was any way his death could be ruled as misadventure by the coroner. Sophie shook her head.

  “No, he received a pretty hefty blow to the back of the skull. I need to do a few more tests, but I would say he was hit by something metal, not too big and slightly curved. I would also say whoever hit him was taller than him, but then he is only five foot three.”