Jake Conley Mysteries Collection

Chapter 21

At Pickering police station, a pleasant modern building, Jake was disappointed not to have the reassuring presence of the sergeant at his interview. Instead, consigned to a young, brisk-mannered officer, he immediately felt himself on the defensive. The inspector, a dark-haired swarthy character with a sizeable mole on his right cheek, by his own admission had been in contact with the York police. The thought of what D.I. Shaw might have planted in his brain made Jake edgy. His apprehension didn’t escape the policeman, and the air of suspicion and incredulity this generated increased a vicious circle of unease.

Barely stopping short of an outright accusation, D. I. Smethhurst grilled him about his movements, alibis and motivations. Most of which, unfortunately for Jake, were either absent or unconvincing. The inscrutable brown eyes of the inspector considered the suspect before he settled for an honest assessment of the situation.

“I’m going to be frank with you, Mr Conley, no self-respecting police officer in the land would base a murder investigation on the non-scientific nonsense that you’re trying to put across. To my knowledge, in the history of policing since the force came into being, there hasn’t been a single murder attributed to supernatural forces. Behind cases of so-called black magic, there’s always the hand of a flesh-and-blood criminal.”

He had delivered his speech with the intention of provoking a reaction. When it came, it disappointed him. Instead of some unhinged rant, he received an apathetic sigh, resignation.

“I know. It’ll be worse trying to convince a judge and a jury. That’s why I came back to Ebberston. You must see, if I’m innocent – which I am – I have to bring the ghost out in public and have it splashed across the media. Otherwise, how am I going to clear my name?”

Smethhurst grunted, paying undue attention to the pen in his hand.

“By letting the police do their job,” he murmured.

“With all due respect,” Jake said, “how can you do your job properly if you close your mind to the truth?”

“If you want my opinion, Mr Conley, I think Ebberston is the last place on earth you should be. I think you have more substantial dangers than your ethereal ghost to deal with. By all accounts, you’re lucky to have survived your visit unscathed. You might not be so fortunate next time. Our manpower is far too stretched to guarantee your protection. Consider this, you could lose teeth or even an eye in another assault, or worse, you could end up in a vegetative state for the rest of your life.”

The policeman sat back and surveyed the effect of his words with bleak satisfaction. Jake hadn’t really thought it through deeply enough, but the officer was right. There was no point in exposing himself to further physical punishment. He must leave Ebberston at once. But how could he if he hadn’t found a way to prove his innocence?

As if reading his mind, D.I. Smethhurst reassured him.

“You don’t strike me as a villain, Mr Conley. I can assure you, as officer in charge of this case, I’ll do my utmost to bring the murderer to justice. We’ll also be keeping a close eye on the comings and goings at Elfrid’s Hole, supernatural or human. We have it under constant surveillance. The only thing I ask of you is to keep me informed of your movements as I might need to talk with you again.”

“All right, officer. I’ll take your advice and move out of Ebberston. I’ve decided to go to Little Driffield. I want to do some research there for my novel.”

“Good. Here’s my card. I’d appreciate it if you’d give me a call when you’ve settled on your accommodation there.”

Jake phoned his Ebberston landlady about leaving his few belongings in her care until he could come to reclaim them. There were no vacancies where he had previously stayed in Driffield, which turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Jake found a convenient guest house in Little Driffield Village called Mill Cottage, run by a widower and his daughter, who was now at Leeds university, a post-graduate archaeologist. The gentleman, a tall, thin, curved figure with a hooked nose, was a local historian and delighted that his new guest was researching the area for an historical novel. He immediately made his collection of books and articles available to him and talked at length about the association of Little Driffield with King Aldfrith the Wise. His admiration for the learned monarch inspired Jake to find out more about the ruler.

His research took him back to the church, and in turn, this visit set him on the track of what he discovered to be a strange anomaly. The inscription, placed on the south side of the chancel, read:

WITHIN THIS CHANCEL LIES INTERRED

THE BODY

OF ALFRED, KING OF NORTHUMBERLAND,

WHO DEPARTED THIS LIFE,

JANUARY 18, A.D. 702,

IN THE 20TH YEAR OF HIS REIGN.

Statutum est omnibus semel mori.

(It is appointed for all once to die.)

But his discussions with Andrew, his landlord, had thrown up a series of contradictions about the King, apart from the variants on his name, including the manner of his death. There were those who maintained he died after a long illness in the royal palace, others who stated the monarch succumbed there to his wounds. The medieval chronicler, William of Malmesbury, stated that he died of a painful disease, which was regarded as a visitation of Providence towards the king for expelling Saint Wilfrid from his dignity and possessions. Jake ignored this as religious p********a. Hadn’t he seen the battle and the ghostly king wounded at Ebberston with his own eyes? But what intrigued him most of all were the extraordinary eighteenth-century events that Andrew pointed out in an article he’d written himself for a local history magazine. He read:

In the year 1784, the Society of Antiquarians in London sent a deputation to Little Driffield, to search for the body of the King. Somehow, they converted him into Alfred the Great, ignoring the fact he died 200 years after the Northumbrian monarch! The deputation began its labours on the 20th of September and finished with complete success. After digging some time within the chancel, they found a stone coffin and on opening it exposed the entire skeleton of the King with a great part of his steel armour.

In the year 1784, the Society of Antiquarians in London sent a deputation to Little Driffield, to search for the body of the King. Somehow, they converted him into Alfred the Great, ignoring the fact he died 200 years after the Northumbrian monarch! The deputation began its labours on the 20th of September and finished with complete success. After digging some time within the chancel, they found a stone coffin and on opening it exposed the entire skeleton of the King with a great part of his steel armour.Jake read this with mounting excitement only to be let down with a vertiginous crash. The antiquarians who searched for the remains of Alfred consisted of a party of gentlemen from Driffield, at the head of whom was a worthy baronet – Jake promised to find out who he was – but, Andrew wrote, the investigation terminated in entire disappointment: no stone coffin; no steel armour – in fact, no relic whatever of that monarch was found. The self-appointed delegation, probably to avoid the ridicule to which they would have been exposed, created this fabrication. Jake cursed under his breath. It seemed whenever he got close to finding Aldfrith, the ancient monarch slipped away from him. He turned the page.

In 1807, when the church of Little Driffield was demolished and rebuilt, the curate made another search, but in vain, for the remains of Alfred. When the foundations were bared, it was found that the church and the chancel had both been contracted in size, and that if Alfred had really been buried near the north wall, upon which the words of the inscription were formerly painted in a fresco, his remains must now be in the church yard.

In 1807, when the church of Little Driffield was demolished and rebuilt, the curate made another search, but in vain, for the remains of Alfred. When the foundations were bared, it was found that the church and the chancel had both been contracted in size, and that if Alfred had really been buried near the north wall, upon which the words of the inscription were formerly painted in a fresco, his remains must now be in the church yard.Jake sat up. This was a line of enquiry well worth following up. He would explore it with Andrew.

“Andrew, you mention the possibility that the tomb of Aldfrith now lies in the churchyard near the north wall. Has there been no serious investigation?”

“We have regular archaeological superintendence in Driffield whenever new building takes place. They keep a watching brief on the sites, but as to specific excavations, it’s been a while. I should have my wife’s material, did I tell you she was an eminent archaeologist?” His expression took on an infinite sadness. “My Heather is trying to emulate her mother, and I have no doubt she will succeed. Let me see, ah, yes…” He perused the shelves and selected a box file with a half-detached yellowing label on the spine. “This will update you on archaeological activity in the village, and there’s been plenty of it. Regarding the churchyard, it’s a tricky one because it will involve the diocese and permission from the Church authorities.”

“Maybe we could start a non-invasive investigation. Passing a proton magnetometer over the ground would answer the question without any site disturbance.

“Good idea. I can’t see anyone objecting to that. Leave it with me. I’ll have a word with the vicar.”

Rental costs of the magnetometer were too high for Jake’s pocket, so he seized eagerly on Andrew’s suggestion to contact the University of York’s Archaeology Department only to be met with scepticism. The professor he spoke with on the phone gave him a very polite brush-off, maintaining that the grave, had it been near the nineteenth-century rebuilding foundations, would surely have come to light. Excusing himself with a series of other urgent commitments, the archaeologist rang off.

Jake swallowed his frustration, wondering whether this line of research had any bearing on his legal predicament. As this thought struck him, his eye fell on a list of excavations in Driffield, and as had occurred on a previous occasion, one line of print seemed to leap at him off the page. For some reason, a psychic phenomenon he didn’t understand was directing him to the study of a medieval moated manor. Too trusting of his newfound mystic powers, Jake did not dismiss the line of enquiry as outside his period of interest, which had been his first reaction. Instead, he read with growing interest. The article was about an excavation performed on the Moot Hill Motte and Bailey castle, which still survived in good condition despite the nineteenth-century and 1975 excavations.

Jake decided to take a walk there, especially after he read on and his interest quickened:

Excavations at Moot Hill undertaken in 1975 demonstrated that the surviving mound was the motte of a Norman castle lying immediately to the east of the postulated site of the eighth-century Northumbrian royal palace, references to which, in connection with Driffield, are found in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle for the year 705 AD. The Chronicle indicates that King Aldfrith, who ruled Northumbria after the death of his brother, Ecgfrith, in 685 AD, possessed a palace at Driffield. The excavations of 1975 also uncovered evidence of a Roman occupation dating to the fourth century AD beneath the motte. The surviving remains include the motte mound, which is up to 4.5m in height and 40m in diameter, partly surrounded by the remains of a ditch 15m wide and 1.5m deep.

Excavations at Moot Hill undertaken in 1975 demonstrated that the surviving mound was the motte of a Norman castle lying immediately to the east of the postulated site of the eighth-century Northumbrian royal palace, references to which, in connection with Driffield, are found in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle for the year 705 AD. The Chronicle indicates that King Aldfrith, who ruled Northumbria after the death of his brother, Ecgfrith, in 685 AD, possessed a palace at Driffield. The excavations of 1975 also uncovered evidence of a Roman occupation dating to the fourth century AD beneath the motte. The surviving remains include the motte mound, which is up to 4.5m in height and 40m in diameter, partly surrounded by the remains of a ditch 15m wide and 1.5m deep.This made Jake think. He knew there had been a Northumbrian royal palace at Driffelda and that Aldfrith’s men had carried the wounded king there from Ebberston. Presumably he had died in the palace, but after his death, was he really buried at the Saxon church? The strange, dull ache in the middle of his brow returned with insistence. Did it mean that he was pursuing the right line of investigation? He straightened, stretched, and returned to the article:

The existence of buried remains of an extensive building was originally discovered during earlier works carried out in the nineteenth century. These remains included wall fragments and large stone steps. It was recorded in the Driffield Observer for June 1893 that ‘an elongated rectangle for the castle’ was found and that hand-made files and a chalk wall foundation surrounded by a moat up to 3m deep at its west side were revealed by the excavation of a drain. J R Mortimer, the nineteenth-century antiquarian, mistakenly identified the mound as a Bronze Age round barrow. The mound had been originally much larger, both in diameter and height, before part of it was removed during gravel quarrying operations in 1856-8. During these operations, Mortimer noted fragments of medieval swords, including what is described as an Anglo-Saxon sword – Jake gasped and put his hand to his forehead, which felt as if an unseen force was gnawing between his eyes into his skull – and spears, a bronze celt and English silver coins. It was also believed by Mortimer to have been at one time an Anglo-Saxon Moot Mound, although there is no direct evidence for this other than its name.

The existence of buried remains of an extensive building was originally discovered during earlier works carried out in the nineteenth century. These remains included wall fragments and large stone steps. It was recorded in the Driffield Observer for June 1893 that ‘an elongated rectangle for the castle’ was found and that hand-made files and a chalk wall foundation surrounded by a moat up to 3m deep at its west side were revealed by the excavation of a drain. J R Mortimer, the nineteenth-century antiquarian, mistakenly identified the mound as a Bronze Age round barrow. The mound had been originally much larger, both in diameter and height, before part of it was removed during gravel quarrying operations in 1856-8. During these operations, Mortimer noted fragments of medieval swords, including what is described as an Anglo-Saxon sword – – and spears, a bronze celt and English silver coins. It was also believed by Mortimer to have been at one time an Anglo-Saxon Moot Mound, although there is no direct evidence for this other than its name.He was definitely on the right track if his spiritual indicators were to be believed. The finding of Anglo-Saxon artefacts at the moot hill excited him. Jake began to formulate a theory that would have long-reaching effects on his case, although that day, standing dizzily with aching head in front of the untidy documents scattered across Andrew’s desk, it was still too vague to provide him with much hope. His immediate concern, however, was to take a taxi to The Elms to reclaim his belongings. About this time, WPC Siobhan Reardon fell downstairs in her house in Ebberston, cracking two vertebrae in her neck and breaking the radius in her right arm.