Cherringham--Mystery at the Manor (3 page)

As Riley dashed, Jack turned to Sarah.

“So your friend says that the old man never went up to this room. And yet, a fire breaks out and up he goes? Or maybe … he was already there?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe he was already up there?”

“Possible. But why? In the middle of the night …”

“Right.” He looked away. Riley had stopped, his nose pointed straight into the air at the taunting gull. A lot of thoughts swirled in Jack’s head. He had dealt with a lot of suspicious fires in his days in New York. Some were simply fires — things happen — and some weren’t.

He turned back to Sarah.

“What do you think?” she said.

“I’m guessing you’re asking me if I want to play detective again?”

“Well, not sure if ‘play’ is the right word, after all, I’ve seen all those plaques and commendations — you must have done
something
for them.”

He held up a hand, laughing. “Okay. Well, on first glance what you’re telling me is interesting. Still — it could be nothing. Old people do odd things — for lots of reasons. Maybe he thought he was going downstairs.”

“And maybe he knew exactly where he was going.”

“You are the suspicious one, aren’t you?” He took a breath. “I like that.”

“If you’d seen the show put on by his family …”

“The ne’er-do-well offspring, hmm?”

“Accusations flying, all of them looking relieved that their dad was in the ground.”

Jack nodded. “Okay. I’m …
in
. Or rather, we’re in. A team, yes?”

“Of course. Though I need to do a bit of work — just blew the whole morning and I have a highlands resort waiting on a layout for their brochure and website. But after that …”

“And I need that cup of tea.”

“Where do we start?”

“You know … some people will talk to us, some people won’t. And since this is a fire matter, how about we start with your Fire Department … and the Fire Chief? That what you call them here?”

She laughed at the question. “It’s called the Fire and Rescue Service, and we have a Chief Fire Officer Barnes.”

“There you go. Not so different. Let’s have a chat with him — if he will chat. When can you be free?”

“Half-two, three …”

He grinned. Slowly, the expressions here were becoming normal.
Half-two.

“
Great. Saw the fire station out towards the school …”

“Brand new, almost.”

“Meet you there not at half-two but, say … two-thirty?”

And now Sarah grinned.

***

Sarah saw Chief Fire Officer Barnes standing outside the station as his men washed a bright red fire engine lined with yellow stripes.

She looked at her watch. Half-two, and no Jack.

Then she heard his Austin Healy take the corner near the station, the engine’s low rumble more distinctive than even its vintage sports car profile.

She popped the door as Jack parked across the street and twisted and turned his way out of the driver’s seat.

He really needs a bigger car.

He had put on khakis, a crisp blue shirt, his rumpled morning look gone.

“You want to start?” he said quietly as they got closer to Barnes who had seen them.

“As long as I can pass it to you. What I know about arson could fill the back of a postage stamp”

The Chief took a few steps towards them.

“Sarah Edwards?”

“Chief Barnes.”

The Chief Fire Officer wore a smile.

Had he heard about how Sarah had helped find Sammi’s killer back in the summer? If so, he might know what she was doing here.

“Your dad told me at the Parish Council meeting a few months ago that you were back. Couldn’t leave the old village life?”

She waited for the next bit, the part that always seemed laced with an air of judgement.

“And two kids as well, hmm?”

Sarah nodded. She fired a quick look at Jack, who stood there taking little interest in this chit-chat, instead watching the men hosing down the fire engine.

Sarah hoped he might step in and redirect the conversation. But no such luck.

“Yup — Chloe and Daniel.”

“Yes, watched your boy play cricket last weekend. Kid’s got some real skills.”

Sarah smiled, this loop of chit-chat feeling interminable.

Finally Jack intervened. “Jack Brennan,” he said sticking his hand out.

With an unhidden sense of caution, Barnes stuck out his hand and gave Jack’s a firm shake.

But at least it stopped the ‘catching-up’ train.

“Chief, my good friend Hope was Victor Hamblyn’s carer.”

From the corner of her eye she caught a fireman nearby looking over, still polishing the engine which already looked as shiny and bright as possible.

Barnes nodded, and also folded his arms, the body language clear.

Sarah continued. “She thought that there was something wrong, about the fire and …”

Barnes unfolded his arms and put a hand out as if directing traffic.

“Now hang on, Sarah. I can’t talk about that incident, an unfortunate accident. There’ll be an inquest in due course, and until then I can’t say anything.”

Sarah nodded. She watched as Barnes looked over to Jack as if expecting an argument there.

“I know,” Sarah said, searching for words that might make this by-the-book Fire Chief bend the rules just a bit. “But Hope, she told me …”

Barnes shook his head. “If your friend has any information, I suggest she write up a report and submit it. We’ll be working with the police on the incident and will be glad to look at anything.”

Sarah felt the heavy virtual thud of a door slamming shut.

She looked at Jack, as if to say …
c’mon, nothing to say here? No magic words from the New York detective to rock the Chief’s boots a bit?

“Makes sense,” was all that Jack said.

Sarah thinking …
good grief.

“Okay,” Sarah said. “I’ll make sure she does that.”

Chief Barnes smiled. “Good. And I’d best see to my desk. Love fighting fires, hate the paperwork!”

Barnes turned and walked away.

Sarah shook her head, turned to Jack who signalled with a nod of his head that they should move on but they had only taken a few steps before Sarah felt someone touch her elbow.

Sarah turned around, with Jack, and saw one of the firemen, his uniform dotted with water from the engine cleaning, standing there.

“Excuse me,” he said. He sounded breathless, whether from dashing to catch them or from whatever had prompted him to drop his soapy rag and follow them.

She watched the fireman look back to the station house but no one seemed to be watching.

Jack’s eyes were locked on the young fireman. His nameplate above the pocket of his shirt:
Gary Scott.

“Yes?”

“I—I couldn’t help what you two were talking about back there. I know Hope. She took care of my gran, very near the end. A big heart, she has.”

“She does,” Sarah said.

“My family owed her. Could have been a bad experience. Know what I mean? But Hope, was, well like really special …”

Nothing important here, Sarah thought. Just a thanks to pass along to the gentle, caring Hope — who would of course dismiss the compliment, saying she just did what anyone would do.

Sarah smiled, ready to go back to her car, and talk with Jack to see what else they could look into when the young man, with a quick glance behind him, leaned forward to say something more.

“I heard your question.” He said quietly. “If Hope is concerned, I dunno, maybe something
was
wrong there.”

Which is when Jack spoke. “Did you see something? That night?”

The fireman nodded. “This last year, we’ve been out to the Manor a lot. Hope probably knows that. The wiring in that place was a mess. Decades overdue for an upgrade. So little electrical fires started all the time. Every month nearly. Think she called in one or two of them. But mostly the old man. He was old, you know, but sharp.”

Jack: “So, it wasn’t the first night you’d been to the house?”

Gary Scott nodded. “Right. And, truth be known, the place was ripe for fires. Should have been condemned, least till the wiring was upgraded.”

“Anything else?” Sarah said. She was concerned that Barnes might walk out of the station again, and the young fireman would get in trouble for his help.

“Well, I don’t know if you know anything about electrical fires. Usually start in the wall, often near the sockets. Can take a while for them to turn into anything. Even in those old places, the wires were kept free of exposed wood, the walls.”

“Something … strange about this one?”

Another nod. “Yes and no. The fire started in the old library. There were no traces of accelerant we could see.”

“Accelerant?” said Sarah.

“Lighter fluid, petrol — you know? Deliberate stuff,” said Gary. “Anyway, far as I know, that room never got used by Mr Hamblyn. Whereas the other call-outs we had — it was in the living areas. But what really struck me was the old fella right at the top of the house. I mean — he had to use a stair lift just to get to bed! Whatever he was up to — he was desperate. Know what I mean?”

Sarah shot another look at Jack. Though a warmish sun beat down on them, hearing Gary’s words chilled her. And she knew: Hope’s instincts were spot on.

“Maybe he was just disorientated?” she said.

“Nah. Sharp as nails old Victor was. He knew the way out in a fire.” He looked over his shoulder again. “Anyway, I better go. Chief will have my head if he caught me with you. But one other thing. That night, when we got there, we saw someone near the house.”

“Running from the house or …?” Jack said.

Gary shook his head. “No. Just like — standing there. Like they wanted to go in. Maybe someone out for a walk. The pub’s not far. But as soon as we rolled up …”

“They ran away?” Jack said.

Gary looked at Jack. “Exactly. And we had our hands full. And by the time we were suited up, tanks, masks, and inside — it was too late for the old man.”

“Can’t have been pleasant,” said Jack.

Gary shook his head. “Never is. But he wouldn’t have known much about it. Smoke, you see. His age — coupla deep breaths, that’s all it takes. Anyway. Gotta go. Wish you guys luck.”

He turned, ready to bolt back, but then:

“Good you two are out asking questions. This lot here,” a thumb arched in the direction of the station house, “they do take their time!”

A last grin, and Gary Scott hustled back to the gleaming fire truck drying in the afternoon sun.

Sarah turned to Jack.

“So, what do you think?”

Jack nodded at her, clearly thinking this through.

“I think I should pay a visit to the mystery manor — don’t you?”

And Sarah knew she’d got him on board …

Jack drove slowly up the road from Cherringham Bridge towards the village, peering through the misted up windows of the little sports car, looking for the entrance to Mogdon Manor.

He’d walked up this gentle hill many times, but had no idea that one of the little lanes off the main road led to one of the oldest houses in the area. Barely visible through the overgrown hedges, two crumbling stone gate pillars and straddling them a rusty iron arch with faded lettering —
Mogdon Manor
.

He turned in to the weed-covered drive and followed it, brambles and shrubs brushing the sides of the car. As he rounded a corner the hedges opened out and the house appeared, set behind a circle of gravel and an ornamental fountain that had probably at one stage been very grand.

As he climbed out of the car, he took stock of the place. Through the rain, the house looked to Jack like it should be in a horror movie. Broad and squat, the old building was smothered in ivy and the skeletal branches of ancient wisteria. Dark leaded windows set in ancient stone, a heavy oak front door with iron studs, and a stone tiled roof from which floods of water cascaded noisily down where broken guttering hung loose.

Behind it, towered four great oak trees — Jack guessed that even on a sunny day the house would be in almost constant shadow.

But as far as he could see, there was no trace of the fire that had caused Victor Hamblyn’s death.

As he took it all in, a little Fiat buzzed up the drive and parked next to the Sprite. A woman got out, umbrella already flicking open. She rushed over to him and took him by the arm.

“Come on love,” she said. “We’ll catch our deaths out here.”

And before he could even speak, Hope Brown led him round to the side of the house, unlocked a back door, and bustled him in.

As she put the kettle on and proceeded to make coffee, she turned to Jack. “Of course, I could have just given Sarah the key and left the two of you to it. But to be honest — I really wanted to meet you. Up close and personal — isn’t that what you Yanks say?”

Jack considered his reply carefully.

“Not too up close, I hope. These days the lines are pretty much all you’ll see.”

“Nonsense. Laughter lines. Sign of experience. A rich, full life and all that.”

“A long one — that’s what it feels like most mornings,” said Jack.

She handed him his coffee and took a seat on the other side of the kitchen bar and examined him. Jack examined back. She was in her late thirties he guessed — a little older than Sarah. Fuller figure, strong-looking, and a lot of laughter in those eyes for sure.

He liked her instantly. No wonder Gary up at the Fire Station had so much time for her.

“This kitchen,” He went on, “In a manor house like this it seems kinda incongruous, don’t you think?”

He nodded towards the state-of-the-art oven and double fridge, the smooth granite worktops, professional lighting.

“Total waste of money if you ask me,” said Hope. “Dominic had it all installed in the spring. Insisted on it. 'Only the best is good enough for you, Dad.' Getting him that stair lift?
That
was a different matter, mind you.”

“And what did
Dad
think about all this?”

“He used to come in, make his tea, use the toaster — swear a bit at the expense, then go back to his little sitting room.”