The Distant Dead by Lesley Thomson (most difficult books to read .txt) 📗

‘There’s more.’ Pulling out one of Stella’s visitor chairs, Bev motioned for Jackie to sit while, with an outstretched arm, she stopped Jack from pacing the room.

‘So, who killed this Maple Greenhill?’ Jackie asked.

‘Here’s the thing. The coroner, Wolsey Banks, ruled “murder by person or persons unknown”.’ Beverly held up a newspaper article. ‘The press speculated it was a serviceman. The murder rate went up during the war; men on leave found the home they were fighting for didn’t exist. Wives had other men or liked their new freedom. Trained to kill, servicemen defaulted to murder. The blackout and bombed or burnt-out buildings were a perfect screen for killing and disposal. A corpse found under rubble might be an air-raid casualty. Newspapers warned of “night blooms luring men into the gaping maws of destroyed homes”. Crap. As if the likes of Maple were monsters and their killers, soldiers, ARP wardens, whoever, the innocent victims.’ It was a while since Jackie had seen Beverly so fired up.

‘Maple Greenhill wasn’t a sex-worker,’ Jack said. ‘In an interview, I read that her brother Vernon Greenhill insisted she was murdered by a man she expected to marry.’

‘Who was that?’ Jackie stifled a sneeze. An air of damp from the old papers had pervaded Stella’s office.

‘Firstly, we have discovered an incredible coincidence.’ Beverly looked fit to bust.

‘There’s no such thing as a coincidence, it’s a sign,’ Jack said.

‘What?’ Jackie put aside how they’d got the papers, she didn’t want to know.

‘Maple Greenhill’s family used to live in your street. Corney Road.’ Beverly added, ‘In your house.’

‘Goodness, my mother-in-law’s ears will be burning in her grave.’ Jackie gave a dry laugh. ‘When we bought it, Violet said the house reeked of an unhappy spirit. She said misery seeped from the walls. Violet was a spiritualist, she made a fortune out of tarot and whatnot. To my mind, she was a charlatan, but her tea leaves were spot on – we’re living in the home of a murdered woman.’ Jackie looked at the ceiling. ‘Sorry, Vi, I should have listened.’

‘From December 1940, your house was witness to wholesale grief.’ Jack didn’t pull punches. ‘Grief can be assuaged, it’s a happy home now.’

‘Yes, thank you, Jack,’ Jackie snapped. ‘It’s nearly nine, in a minute the phone will ring off the hook with customers. Is there more?’

‘This belonged to Aleck Northcote.’ Like a magician, Bev revealed a plastic Tesco bag with an object inside. ‘This gold cigarette lighter was in the box. It’s the first clue found by Divisional Detective Inspector George Cotton, the man running Maple’s case. It was found at the scene of the crime. Roddy must have put it in this Tesco bag, obviously it wasn’t Julia Northcote. Julia must have hoped it would seal his fate.’

‘Wolsey Banks accepted Northcote’s apology for accidentally leaving his lighter in the deserted house after his in-situ examination of Maple’s body. This is him.’ Crouching, Jack shuffled papers and gave Jackie a cutting headed, Severed Leg Mystery Pathologist Provides Answer. A photograph of a man in a top hat was captioned Home Office pathologist Dr Aleck Northcote leaves Old Bailey Criminal Court.

‘You’re connecting Roddy March being in the Ravenscourt Square house with this box of cuttings and therefore with Aleck Northcote?’ Jackie felt resistant to their palpable excitement.

‘Don’t forget Clive Burgess the clockmaker.’ Bev set down the chain of murders on Stella’s whiteboard.

‘That’s not how we’re making the connection.’ Jack pulled out a folded sheet from his inside coat pocket. They had choreographed their presentation, annoying but, Jackie admitted, quite impressive. If only Stella was there to see it.

With a flourish Jack said, ‘We know, because Julia Northcote, the pathologist’s wife, told us herself.’

‘The woman who committed suicide?’ Jackie remembered Bev’s outline of the Tewkesbury murder at their meeting the day before.

‘Or did she? This is the heart of the matter.’ Beverly wrote out the chain of murders with arrows leading to the next death.

Maple Greenhill (1940) → Julia Northcote (1941) → Aleck Northcote (1963) → Roddy March (2019) → Clive Burgess (2019).

As Beverly wrote, Jack read out the letter.

‘If you are reading this then I shall no longer be on this earth. I must restore justice to a girl whom I should want dead were she not already dead. The Hammersmith coroner has ruled Maple Greenhill’s murder as by person or persons unknown, her killer known only to God.

‘I have no allegiance to a pert little madam who, had he been a different man, would have snared my husband for herself without a qualm. Aleck was not that man. If I am writing this it is because I will have been prevented from revealing the truth of the case to Divisional Detective Inspector George Cotton. A good man.

‘Aleck will have prevented me.

‘Aleck bought me the reefer coat for my birthday, plum suits me, he said. On her, the coat would have looked as cheap as she was. After they found the ticket in the coat, the inspector came to arrest Aleck. I felt fear and anger. Fear for my darling Giles, condemned forever to be a murderer’s son. Anger with Aleck, who had dragged us into his filth.

‘Cotton and Aleck left in Aleck’s car because Cotton is a decent man. I would have packed him into a Black Maria. An hour later Aleck returned. “I had to examine specimens for George.” George, he said, like they were best friends. I didn’t say that I knew he had lied, and that through the door I had heard Aleck arrested, like a common bank robber.

‘Today, December 29th, as the Nazis cause a row overhead, I’m making sure I write it all down.

‘“Did you kill that tart?” I faced him with it this morning. He admitted it readily, said how lonely he got in town when I’m in Tewkesbury with Giles at school. After seeing bodies all day, he needed relief. Did I understand it meant nothing? But the girl demanded marriage and said if he