THROUGH THE GLASS DARKLY - OLD SINS CAST LONG SHADOWS

THROUGH THE GLASS DARKLY - EPISODE TEN

CHAPTER

EIGHTEEN

An hour later they were all gathered in the living-room.  Lady Mabbott, Adam Mabbott, Cleo Mabbott, Butch and Mrs Roberts.

            “Thank you for all meeting, is here,” Shaw said.

            “What choice did we have?”  Lady Mabbott complained.

            “Indeed,” Shaw said with what I knew wasn’t even the beginnings of a smile.

            “But what do you want with us?”  Cleo demanded.  “We’ve surely answered enough of your questions?”

            “Yes, you have,” Shaw responded.  “And my colleague, Mr Handful and I, have worked out who killed Lord Mabbott and Wendy Clark.”

            I was gratified to see the effect that his words had on the suspects.

            “So, I will hand over to Mr John Handful, who will tell the whole sad tale.”

            I looked at DCI Shaw with surprise.  I hadn’t expected him to hand me the baton so easily like that.  Especially when he had made it obvious that he wanted the kudos for solving the crime.

            “The Mabbott’s are a proud and noble family who can trace their lineage back many centuries.  And the Mabbott’s have been one of Oxmarket’s more important and wealthy families for well over two hundred years.”

            “And what relevance is that to what has happened?”  Lady Mabbott demanded.

            “None, whatsoever,” I admitted.  “Because none of what I have just said bares any resemblance to the three remaining members of the Mabbott family.”

            “I beg your pardon,” Adam Mabbott, looked appalled by the suggestion, and then turned his gaze to the Detective Chief Inspector.  “Is he allowed to talk to us, like that?”

            “Yes,” Shaw told him, without blinking.  “Carry on, John.”

            “One of the biggest problems with this case is that there has been too many clues left for me to find.”  I continued.  “Let me start with the dates written in Lord Mabbott’s diary.”

            With a nod from Shaw, the young constable standing at the door, disappeared temporarily, and then returned dragging a whiteboard on its juddering legs across to the centre of the room. He then handed me a whiteboard marker.  Without hesitation, I started to write.         

Fourth of March

Fifth of April

Fourth of June

Fourth of October

I took a step back to look at my handiwork and then turned to face my audience.

“Do you see anything significant about these dates?”

My question was met with a room of blank faces.  I turned back to the whiteboard.

Fourth of March:  C

Fifth of April:       L

Fourth of June:     E

Fourth of October: O

When I turned back to address the room, everyone was looking at Cleo, who in turn was looking at the whiteboard with a frightening intensity.

“You were blackmailing your father, Cleo.”

“That’s a lie,” she said, a desperate edge to her voice.  “Why would I want to do that?”

“You disapproved of your father’s relationship with Wendy Clark,” I said.  “Your mother had put the brakes on your relationship with Adam and you wanted to get your own back.”

“I didn’t kill him,” she snapped.  “I didn’t kill him!”

“No, I know you didn’t.”

“I don’t understand,” Lady Mabbott, interjected, unable to keep silent any longer.  “If Cleo didn’t kill Greg, then who did?”

“No one!”  I said.

The silence that followed stretched thinner and thinner, like a balloon blown big, until the temptation to rupture it was too great to resist.

“No one killed Lord Mabbott, did they, sir?”  I looked directly at Adam Mabbott, who when he turned at last to face me his eyes were narrowed, rigid, cold, hard. At that moment I knew he was already thinking I was his enemy.  “It was Adam Mabbott who fell from the window of the study, wasn’t it Lord Mabbott?”

Lord Mabbott shifted uncomfortably in his sofa. 

“You were facing one scandal too many.”  I explained.  “And your brother knew it.  He tried to talk some sense into you, but you didn’t like what he had to say, so you killed him.  You tried to make it look like a suicide but that all went pear-shaped when Mrs Roberts shut the window.  She couldn’t see the body from the window because she is so short, so she just inadvertently carried out her duties.  It was easy for you to pull off because you and your brother were identical.  Who would know?”

I glanced at Mrs Roberts, who smiled with embarrassment.

“Despite being an identical twin, you showed nerves of steel taking your brother’s identity.  But to you, had to have help.”  I turned to address Lady Mabbott.  “Isn’t that right, Wendy?”

This got everyone’s attention and all eyes turned towards her ladyship.

“You killed Lady Victoria Mabbott six weeks ago,” I said.  “And with a different haircut, a little of cosmetic touching up, you could carry on playing the part of your stepsister.  But I believe Adam suspected something, and it was him who left the clue in the family chapel.”

I turned back to the whiteboard and added some more information:

 74

17

18

19

            “A strange combination, having three hymns so close together.  There is something odd about that, don’t you think?  But initially, I couldn’t think what.”  I started to add more detail to the hymn numbers. “And then I remembered the periodic table in your study, Lord Mabbott.”  I scribbled frantically to add some clarity to what I was trying to explain.  “Seventy-four is W for Tungsten.  Seventeen is CL for Chlorine.  Eighteen is AR for Argon.  Nineteen is K for Potassium.  And that is K for Potassium.  W. Clark.”  I turned to Wendy Clark.  “You said that your husband loved puzzles, but he didn’t, did he?  It was Adam who liked the puzzles and Lord Mabbott who liked the crosswords.”

            “Adam Mabbott hoped that somebody would guess the clue and work out what had happened and that someone was me.”

            I looked into Lord Mabbott’s eyes and saw, in among the shame and fear, that there was also a look that was deeply unsettling.  It was a glimmer of triumph.  As though he was relieved finally to reveal his true identity to the world.

            Lord Mabbott jumped to his feet and tried to lunge at me, but the young constable pounced and knocked him to the ground where he held him as he screamed and shouted abuse at anyone who would listen.  With his wrists already in handcuffs he tried to kick out only relenting when the constable yanked Lord Mabbott’s hands behind his back until the pain in his elbows and shoulders finally silenced him.

            The constable grabbed Lord Mabbott by the scruff of his neck and yanked him to his feet.

            “Do you know who I am?”  Lord Mabbott said as he panted to get his breath back.  “Do you?  I’ll break you for this.  Just you see.”

            With a howl of pain, Lord Mabbott lunged again at me, but the constable had him in a vice-like grip.

            “Take him away, constable,” DCI Shaw said.

            The constable yanked Lord Mabbott by the shoulder and led him out of the house.

            Once the room was clear, I turned my attention back to Wendy Clark.  She remained sitting quietly.  I could see that she was trying to process what had just happened.  As for Cleo, I saw that she looked stunned at my surprise revelation.

            “If you think I am going to stand here and prove your theory,” Wendy Clark said, “you’ve another think coming.”

            I held up my hands in mock horror.  “God forbid,” I told her.  “I know who you really are.  The body they found in the crypt had to be Lady Victoria Mabbott.”

            “Why?”

            “Lady Victoria had given birth.”  I explained.  “For you that is impossible.”

I was looking at Wendy while I spoke, and I was pleased to see that she was finally looking worried.  There was a streak of pride in her that I knew I could exploit.

  “And now a judge will have to decide whether you are going to a male prison or a female prison.”  I could see a quiver in Wendy’s lips, but I didn’t feel the tiniest spark of compassion.  I was talking to a murderer.

I looked at DCI Shaw who required no prompting from me.  He pulled out a pair of handcuffs, clicked them tight onto Wendy’s wrists and read her rights.  As DCI Shaw led her out to the awaiting police vehicle, I drifted out of Mabbott Manor to watch.

We watched the vehicles take the murderer’s away and then returned to Cleo Mabbott who was standing silently looking out of the window on the events unfolding outside.  Her eyes looked as if an ocean had been encased inside of small glass marbles. ‘What’s going to happen to me?’ they said. Then the smooth spheres appeared to be cracked; the ocean had started to leak, little water droplets streamed down Cleo's cheeks.

I could’ve described her crying in the most sceptical terms. I could’ve said that she turned the tears on, was crying on cue, or weeping crocodile tears. But faced with such hostility and callousness she would’ve easily dissolved into a puddle of tears.

“Cleo,” I began.  “You’ll be charged with coercion using the threat of revealing or publicizing either substantially true or false, and often damaging, information about a person, to the public, family members, or associates unless certain demands are met.”

Cleo Mabbott sobbed into her hands and the tears dripped between her fingers, raining down onto the carpet. Her breathing was ragged, gasping and the strength left her legs. She sank to her knees. In her sobbing was the sound of a heartbreaking. Hearts don't snap like brittle caramel or burst like an overfilled balloon. A heart breaks in the heaving waves of a new disturbing reality that had arrived uninvited. It is entering a life they can't bear, and so they break. So, as I watched Cleo shake with grief, tears flowing unchecked, there was part of me breaking too.

Cleo was looking wired, panicked, and as though, and she could bolt at any moment.  DCI Shaw discreetly moved into position behind her, and then he was joined by the constable who had escorted Lord Mabbott out of the house.

“You’re the tragedy of this case,” I said, standing over her.  “The anger you felt about not being able to continue seeing Adam Mabbott, grew like a cancer inside you. Then, when you thought your father had died, you thought that you and Adam would get back together.  But Adam couldn’t get back with you because he was dead.  The man you thought was Adam, was in fact your father.  And now he was being very protective and supportive towards your mother, something you hadn’t seen before.  But what you didn’t realize was that Adam was your father and Lady Mabbott was Wendy Clark.”

I watched as the regret washed over her like the long slow waves on a shallow beach. Each wave was icy cold and sent shivers down her spine. How she longed to go back and take a different path, but now that was impossible. There was no way back. There was no way to make it right. The remorse would eat at her every day of her life. She envied the pebbles, hard and lifeless, unable to feel the torments of life.

I've seen people consumed by regret, like maggots are in their guts. They analyse every action and word from every angle and writhe in the agony of paths untaken. They fret about what others think of them. I don't get it. What's done is done. I focus on the next thing, on what's getting me to where I want to go. Don't get me wrong here, I'm nice to people, and I'm helpful. If they don't like that it's not my problem, I'm not losing sleep over it. Until a time machine gets invented, I'm not going to waste my time on regret.

            “Constable,” DCI Shaw said calmly.  “If you would?”

            Wails of pain emitted from Cleo as the young constable fastened the handcuffs on her wrists and led her from the room, while Butch and Mrs Roberts watched on, stony-faced.

            With Cleo gone DCI Shaw looked at me with wonder.

            “Thank you, John,” he said.

            I didn’t want to say anything in reply.  There was another issue I needed to deal with before I would’ve been completely satisfied with my day’s work.       

CHAPTER

NINETEEN

The wind whispered as flakes fell like white confetti onto the Land-Rover. I gazed at the untouched snow in front of me. The swirling white and the shrubs and trees were stained with white. The ground was as smooth as a cake and the snow fell like icing powder, perfecting it to its finest point.

            There was nothing friendly about the snow outside; it fell thick enough to blind any traveller by foot or vehicle. The gale whipped each flake, so pretty on its own, into a projectile that would hurt unguarded skin. The sky above had none of the light it should have, so thick were the black clouds. And the sound, dear God, the sound, like one wind-chime taking the force of these hurricane force winds. Blizzard hardly seemed an adequate word for what the world outside had become.

            The snow became so thick that the trees appeared as the confetti, as if they were the flakes that danced. Everywhere there was light, every crystal was magnified by headlights from the Land Rover.

            The snow hugged the converted boathouse like a day-old baby, new and clingy. It was like the marshes had been put to bed, hushed under nature's frigid eider-down. How odd it was to look on that view, so familiar and yet so different. It was the same house with the security light on that would ordinarily be off. Whether it was the stony cloud or the snow over the sensors, I'm not certain, but they were still sending out its feeble yellow glow.

            Climbing out of the Land-Rover, I felt the wind and snow tug at my clothes.  The cold that had seemed mild at first now numbed my face and extremities. What residual heat I had absorbed in the Land-Rover was gone, it had been my buffer, but unwittingly I had squandered it believing my thick winter jacket equal to the task of preserving his body heat. With each breath more heat rose in puffs of white vapour, with each gust of the wind more heat dissipated into the whiteness, with each step more heat was pulled from my marrow. I had stopped composing wintry poetry of icicles and the spectre of the world under a pristine white blanket and instead tucked my chin to my chest and made for home. All the while I fervently tried to wish away what I was now going to do.

            Kira greeted me at the door without even looking at the Land-Rover as it pulled away.  She hugged me but I was unresponsive.

            “What’s wrong?”

            I looked at her gentle face.  Shaw had lifted his hand to her cheek.  It was a gesture of intimacy, accompanied by something vague and bright in his eyes, a painful rapture.

            I should have seen it earlier.  The clues.  DCI Shaw had looked like a married man during an affair and Kira had acted like a woman trying to escape from one.  That’s why she’d agreed to come and see me.  She expected more from the DCI because she had given so much of herself.

            That was how he’d known where I was going to be when she arrived at the railway station.  She’d told him the night before.  Hence, the receipt from the hotel.  I wasn’t surprised, and I didn’t disapprove.  Who am I to judge?  Had I asked for honesty?  No.  The truth was an overrated quality.  Lies made a dull world more interesting.  They took things in unexpected directions.  They added complications and layers of texture.

            “How long have you been having an affair with DCI Shaw?”

            She was silent for a long time before answering.  “Over a year.  When we met, he took me for a drink.  There hadn’t been anyone since you and I split up.  I was lonely.  One thing led to another.”

            Another silence, longer this time.

            “Are you in love with him?”

            “No.”

            “Is he in love with you?”

            “He says he is.”

            “And now you feel trapped.”

            Tears filled her eyes.  “Pretty much.”

            I pulled her towards me and kissed her clumsily.  Her mouth tasted exciting.  It’s the sort of kiss I would have taken for granted a few years ago – deep and unhurried – but now it felt like a rare gift.  Pushing me away gently, Kira looked past my shoulder and I had a sensation that she could see someone behind me, watching us through the window.  It’s that same impression that I often got with Kira; that she was dreamily preoccupied or looking for something other than me.

            “We had s*x,” she said.  “It wasn’t a clever idea.”

            “Why not?”

            “It might have given you the wrong idea.”

            “The s*x?”

            “Yes.”

            “I know it wasn’t earth moving.  Nobody is going to write poetry about it or paint a mural, but I’d be happy to do it again.”

            She laughed.  “You’re a wonderful man, John.  Far better than what you give yourself credit for.”

            “And?”

            “This is never going to work.”

            “I know.”

            “You know?” 

            “You used me, Kira” I said.  “You had no intention of coming back to me.  I asked ACC Angela White why she had recommended me to aid DCI Shaw on this case, and she told me she hadn’t.  So, it had to be you.  You made sure that Joe asked for my services, so he could have me exactly where he wanted me.  Lord Mabbott had already hired me over the blackmail, so I was already involved with digging into any family secrets, and your lover wanted to have all the kudos in solving the case.  Until he saw sense.”

            Kira sighed and her eyes grew brighter as though a generator was spinning inside her.  The chemistry of our relationship had changed.  Her hands were trembling. Her eyes met mine for a beat, a private though buried within them.

            “Do you think I wanted to do it?”  There was a sharper edge in her voice.  “Once Joe was told he had to bring you in on the case, he was frightened that you were going to make him look stupid.”

            “The problems with secrets and lies Kira, is that you can never tell which is which until you dig them up and sniff.”  All remaining warmth between us had gone.  “Some things are buried for safekeeping; some are buried to hide the stench; and some are buried because they’re toxic and take a long time to disappear.”

            “I think it’s time I left.”

            “Explain it to me, Kira,” I snapped.  “You lie as easily as you kiss.  I can still taste you.  I will always remember your eyes beneath your fringe, awkward and sad.  I saw you as a woman ready to surrender completely – to free-fall into love, but that was to escape your overwhelming feeling of guilt.”

            Taking her coat from the lounge she disappeared upstairs and returned rapidly with her case packed.  She had been ready to leave.  No surprises there.

            She walked to the front door and I unlocked it for her.  I wanted to say something, but Kira had proved to have been another hidden danger in an already complicated case.

            “Do you think you may be able to forgive me one day?”

            There was a long pause.  Kira wanted me to make her feel better.  I couldn’t do it.  Suddenly, she grasped my forearms and plant a kiss on me, hard but not mean, whispering into my mouth.

            “Just to remind you what you’re going to be missing.”