Flesh and Blood

Book 4: The Eden House Mysteries

by Bill Kitson

Genres: Mystery; Amateur Sleuth; Ghost; Thrillers; Crime Fiction; Suspense

Synopsis

'The best one yet!' ***** Reader Review

'This is the third time I've read the whole series and I enjoyed it as much as the first.' ***** Reader Review

Stephen Pengelly, owner of Barton Manor, is detested by the local community. When he is found murdered, there are few tears - but many suspects. Soon, the police have their work cut out identifying a murder weapon like no other, capable of inflicting terrible injuries.

When Adam Bailey is asked to help, he and Eve must discover who has most to gain - and who is prepared to kill, and kill again, to achieve their objective.

Faced with mystifying carvings, historical manuscripts and a strange weapon - rumoured in ancient legends - the couple work to ascertain the truth. But as the myths spring to life, they bring with them a trail of death.

Flesh and Blood is the fourth instalment in Bill Kitson's chilling and suspenseful Eden House mysteries. Perfect for fans of Peter James's Cold Hill series, Val McDermid and J M Dalgliesh.

Readers are hooked on The Eden House Mysteries:

'I couldn't sleep until I had finished this book' ***** Reader Review

'The best book I have read in a while' ***** Reader Review

'Captivating from start to finish. Brilliant page turner. I couldn't put it down' ***** Reader Review

'Read the whole thing in a day' ***** Reader Review

'One of the best authors I have come across' ***** Reader Review

'More twists than a corkscrew' ***** Reader Review

'The characters are brilliant and the story keeps you on the edge of your seat the whole time. Would highly recommend this book!' ***** Reader Review

(P) 2021 Headline Publishing Group Ltd

Release date: October 29, 2015

Publisher: Accent Press

Print pages: 290

Sample

Chapter One

1982

I had been opening a champagne bottle to celebrate the royalty cheque received from my publisher earlier that day, when the phone rang. Eve answered it, and a moment later called out, ‘Adam, it’s somebody called Jeremy Powell. He says you know him.’

I took the phone from her, whispering, ‘He’s a lawyer. Used to work for the TV company I reported for.’

After a lengthy conversation with Powell I said, ‘Let me have a word with Eve and I’ll get back to you.’

Eve eyed me curiously. ‘What was all that about?’

‘He was asking for a favour, well actually, it’s for his younger sister, Alison. Her boyfriend’s brother has been murdered, but the police don’t know how. Apparently the wound was like no other they’ve ever come across and he wondered if I’d seen anything similar anywhere on my travels. The wound was perfectly circular, like a gunshot, but when they did the post-mortem they couldn’t find a bullet. But a core of skin, flesh, tissue, and bone had been removed, right the way to his heart. He’d been cored.’

I saw Eve grimace. ‘Cored?’

‘I told him it doesn’t ring any bells with me, I can’t say I’ve encountered anything as unusual as that, and I’ve seen some strange sights. He wanted to know if I could make a few enquiries. I told him I’d have to check with you first.’ There was no doubt the snippets of information Powell had given me were intriguing, but I was cautious about promising anything. ‘I don’t understand what could have caused a wound like that,’ Eve said. ‘Are you sure he’s got his facts right? I mean, it sounds a bit unlikely, doesn’t it? If the police told his sister-in-law’s boyfriend, he repeated it to her, then she relayed it again to her sister, and she told her husband. By the time he phoned you it was fifth-hand. The original message could have been totally different to the one you heard.’

‘You mean like send three and four pence, we’re going to a dance,’ I said.

‘What?’

‘It’s a story from World War One. It may be apocryphal, but it’s about a message getting distorted in the retelling. The commanding officer in the front line sent a message to HQ which said, “send reinforcements, we’re going to advance.” It got passed from one unit to another, and by the time it reached headquarters, it had become, “send three and four pence, we’re going to a dance.”’

‘Ah. Yes, that was what I meant. Well, I suppose there’s only one way to find out, and that’s by talking to the people involved.’ She eyed me suspiciously. ‘That was what you were hoping I’d say, wasn’t it?’

There was a time when I’d have denied it, but I wouldn’t get away with that now. Eve knew me far too well. I had to defend myself somehow, though. ‘Come off it, Evie, you’re as curious as I am!’

‘Ring Powell back and tell him we’ll talk to his sister and her boyfriend.’ It was as close to an admission as I was going to get.

An hour later, we’d arranged to see the couple the next day.

‘That’s a bit quick,’ Eve commented.

‘I know, but Jeremy seemed to think Alison is really spooked by this, which I suppose is only natural.’

‘Ought we to be getting involved?’

‘Let’s be honest, Evie, wild horses wouldn’t keep either of us away after that tale. Besides which, the police are baffled. Added to all of that, according to what Jeremy told me, the detective in charge of the enquiry is our old friend Detective Inspector Hardy.’

‘Perhaps we ought to ring him before we go haring off. He might not want us sticking our noses in.’

Eve’s suggestion was a good one, but when I tried to contact Hardy the following morning, I was told by a less-than-helpful telephonist that he was unavailable and that they couldn’t tell us when I would be able to speak with him. Having made the effort in vain, we were on the road by mid-morning. As we drove, we discussed what little we knew.

‘Where is the place this murder was committed, do you know it?’ Eve asked.

‘The house is called Barton Manor, on the outskirts of a village called Barton-le-Moors, but we’re not going there. We’re going to talk to Alison Powell and her boyfriend. They’re staying at the King’s Head in Barton-le-Dale, the nearest town.’

‘You were on the phone with your lawyer friend for quite a while; did he tell you anything about the boyfriend or his family?’

‘There isn’t anyone else, apparently, and he reckons Robert Pengelly is a really decent bloke who’s had a rough time of it. He didn’t go into too much detail, but he did say Robert wasn’t on speaking terms with his brother Stephen, the victim.’

‘That doesn’t sound good. I mean, it suggests a strong motive.’

‘I agree, but he also said that Robert hasn’t seen Stephen in years, and hasn’t been anywhere near Barton Manor.’

‘Did Jeremy say what Robert Pengelly does for a living?’

‘He’s some kind of boffin. He works for an electronic equipment manufacturer in Leeds, on the development side. He met Alison in Leeds. She’s a postgraduate history student at the university.’

We arrived at Barton-le-Dale, a sleepy market town located at the very north-western tip of the county, almost where North Yorkshire becomes Cumbria. The region is sparsely populated. The buildings are mostly grey limestone, weathered over the centuries and blackened by the soot from the chimneys of countless open fires. Combined with the dark, brooding moorland that surrounds the town, this lends the area a sombre effect, which was accentuated that day by grey clouds that scudded across the sky driven by a strong, cold north-easterly wind.

We parked in the cobbled marketplace in front of the hotel. As we got out of the car I shivered. ‘It’s a coat colder up here.’

‘Yes, and we’ve still got winter to come,’ Eve said as she turned her collar up and thrust her hands into her pockets.

I held the hotel door open and ushered Eve inside, adding, ‘At least it hasn’t started snowing yet.’

I’ve never counted weather forecasting as one of my talents. Perhaps it’s as well I don’t rely on it.

I think the most accurate description of the King’s Head would be that it was comfortable. All the furniture and fittings in the lounge were long in the tooth, well-worn but presentable. There were only four people in the lounge, all seated at one of the coffee tables. The younger couple I assumed to be Alison Powell and her boyfriend. We stepped forward and as we identified ourselves, Alison introduced the others.

‘This is Robert Pengelly, my boyfriend, and this is Mr and Mrs Jolly.’

Alison invited us to sit down and ordered more coffee. When it arrived, she poured fresh cups for everyone as Robert Pengelly explained the reason for the older couple’s presence.

‘Mary and Frank worked for my brother and it was Mary who found Stephen’s body. They have just been at the police station giving their statements to the detectives, so I asked them to join us here.’

‘I acted as Mr Stephen’s cook and housekeeper,’ Mary Jolly told us. ‘Frank worked as his chauffeur, gardener, and general handyman. We live at the lodge to Barton Manor.’

‘All we know is what Alison’s brother told us on the phone. He suggested there was some confusion as to what killed your brother.’

‘I think that’s putting it mildly,’ Robert replied. ‘To begin with, the police were convinced I’d killed Stephen. There was certainly no love lost between us, and as I am the only surviving relative, they thought I had a strong motive for killing him as I now inherit the estate.’

Having said that, Robert Pengelly seemed to think there was nothing more to add. I found that a little puzzling, but then, we didn’t know much about him or his circumstances at that stage.

‘You don’t sound too upset by your brother’s death,’ Eve pointed out, ‘nor do you seem particularly excited by the thought of your inheritance.’

‘I’m not.’

The answer was nowhere near as curt as it looks on paper, but it was definitely less than forthcoming. I decided it was going to need some probing to get Robert Pengelly to open up, so I began questioning him, mixing my reporter’s style with that I imagined a detective such as Hardy would use. ‘When did you last see your brother?’

‘It was seventeen years ago. That was when he sent me to boarding school. I was ten years old.’

‘In all that time you’ve never seen him, not even briefly? Never visited your home?’

‘That’s correct. I doubt if I’d have recognised him if I passed him in the street. I’m certain he wouldn’t recognise me.’

‘What about the fact that you’ve now inherited the Barton Manor estate?’ Eve asked him. I think she’d guessed what I was up to and decided I needed help.

‘Inheriting the estate might seem like a motive to you, but I’m not interested. I haven’t given the place a thought in years. My memories of Barton Manor aren’t particularly happy ones, to be honest. I’m sorry, but if the police want to find the killer they’ll have to look at someone a lot closer to my brother. I admit that I detested him, but not to the extent of wanting to kill him.’

‘Did Stephen pay for you to go to public school?’

‘Yes – and no. What I meant is that Stephen made the payments, but the money came from part of the sum set aside for my education in the terms of my father’s will, not from affection, believe me.’

‘You said that you hadn’t seen Stephen,’ I commented. ‘Did you have any form of contact with him?’

‘Yes, but it was one-way contact. I wrote to him three times a year as I was instructed to by my tutors. The last letter was on my eighteenth birthday, the day he ceased to be my legal guardian. By then I was glad to be rid of the chore, and I’d guess Stephen was bored rigid by the turgid drivel I sent him.’

His account did much to explain his seeming disinterest in his brother’s fate, or the manor he was in the process of inheriting. ‘This is how things were as I grew up in what I laughingly refer to as my family. Stephen didn’t like me, and neither did my father. I’d go further than that and say they both hated me. My mother died giving birth to me and they blamed me for causing her death; and they made that fact perfectly clear from the moment they judged I was able to understand the meaning behind their words. Stephen didn’t want anything to do with a much younger brother he referred to as “the brat”, and as a consequence I soon learned to feel the same about him. I’m not in the slightest bit bothered that he’s dead, or that he was murdered, because I couldn’t care one way or another. I shan’t miss him, but I won’t dance on his grave either. To be honest, hearing about his death was a bit like getting news that someone you met a few times long ago and didn’t particularly like had been killed.’

My strategy had worked, in that Robert was now talking freely. ‘Weren’t you at all bitter at the way you’d been treated?’

‘Of course I was bitter, wouldn’t you be?’ For the first time Robert showed some emotion. ‘Not that I blame Stephen entirely. I believe some of his feelings came from my father, whose favourite remark about me was addressed not to me, but to my nanny. He’d say, “Get that little brat out of here; I can’t stand the sight of him”. Nice, that, don’t you think? Quite the doting parent. As soon as I was old enough, he sent me away to prep school. I was nine when he died. The headmaster told me the news, broaching the subject with great tact.’ Robert smiled. ‘The poor man was shocked when he started talking about travel arrangements for the funeral and I said that I didn’t intend to go.’ He paused and sipped his coffee, which must have been cold by then. He stared moodily into the liquid, and I guessed his thoughts were as dark as the coffee.

‘So Stephen became your legal guardian?’

‘Yes, and I was brought home for one last time, to make preparations for moving on to senior school. Stephen told me that he was going to give me a handsome allowance, which in fact was also from the fund set aside in my father’s will. He kindly told me that he didn’t want me at Barton Manor any longer. After that, I was farmed out to teachers, who were well paid to look after me during the holidays.’ He gestured to his surroundings. ‘This is the closest I’ve been to what you could call my home since I was ten.’

As Robert finished speaking I glanced round. I could tell Eve was shocked by Robert’s account of his callous treatment, as were Frank and Mary Jolly. Alison too was moved, although I guessed she’d heard some, if not all, of it before.

‘Why were they so cruel and unpleasant to you?’

Robert looked at Eve, his dark eyes laden with sadness, amounting almost to pain. ‘Not only had my mother died when I was born, but my twin sister was stillborn. As far as I’m aware, the only thing I did wrong was to survive. Father and Stephen hated me for that, and made sure I was aware of their feelings.’

‘Is that all there is to it?’ Eve persisted and was rewarded with another insight into the Pengelly family.

Robert shrugged. ‘Possibly, possibly not. Perhaps they realised I wasn’t going to turn out like them, even from an early age.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘I believe that my father was totally unsuited to married life. I’m going by what I heard and saw as a young child. It surprises me that many adults don’t realise that small children can hear everything that goes on within earshot, even if at the time they don’t understand it. I didn’t have many people to talk to, so I learned to listen to everything that was being said, whether it was intended for my ears or not. Much of it I didn’t grasp at the time, but later, when I recalled it, what I’d heard made sense. My father had lots of women visitors when I was growing up, and when they came I was forbidden to leave my own quarters. Of course I had my nanny for company. That was OK until she’d had her third gin, when she usually fell asleep. She snored, so I couldn’t follow suit. Anyway, from rumours I heard, it sounded as if my father had been carrying on with other women long before my mother died.’

‘And you say Stephen was of the same inclination?’

‘Yes, although he wasn’t hampered by the inconvenience of having a wife to answer to.’

‘How did you find out? About Stephen, I mean?’

‘I eavesdropped on a row he had with my father. I didn’t understand much of what they said, I was too young, but I was intrigued by the argument as it was such a rare event.’

‘I take it the subject was a woman?’

‘Yes, it must have been from what was said. My father was shouting and carrying on, and I remember him saying, “If you can’t keep it in your pants at least check the bitch’s birth certificate. This is going to cost me a small fortune”. That was when they really started having a go at one another. Stephen came back with “At least I wasn’t shagging my way around every slut in the county distressing my wife”. I was really enjoying listening, but then my nanny came along and dragged me away. She wasn’t at all impressed when I asked her what the word shagging meant.’

Out of my eye corner I saw Frank and Mary exchange glances, before she spoke. ‘I know you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but Mr Stephen did have lots of women friends stay at the manor. Not the sort of women you’d class as ladies, either. It was difficult keeping up with their names, at least until about a year ago.’

‘How long have you worked at the manor?’ Eve asked.

‘We’ve been there ten years. What will happen now, I don’t know.’

I looked at Robert, who seemed taken aback by Mary’s comment. ‘I hadn’t thought of anything like that,’ he admitted.

I decided it was time to concentrate on the reason for our visit. ‘You said earlier that Mary found the body, would someone tell us exactly what happened, if it isn’t too distressing?’

Again, Mary and Frank exchanged glances before she spoke, and I noticed that he held her hand throughout. It was obvious that both of them were distressed by what had happened, even if Robert Pengelly wasn’t. I wondered if that was out of affection for their late employer, or doubts over their own future.

‘It happened last Friday afternoon,’ Mary began. ‘I hadn’t planned on being at the manor, but Mr Stephen had been difficult that day. Out of the blue, he demanded that I prepare three guest bedrooms. I didn’t mind the extra work, but it would have been nice if I’d had a bit more notice, or if he’d asked in a more polite manner. It took me a long time, and by four o’clock in the afternoon I hadn’t finished, and I still had Mr Stephen’s meal to prepare.

‘The cleaning had made me hot. I remember that as I crossed the Minstrel’s Gallery I shivered, and noticed that the house felt colder than it should. That was when I glanced down the staircase and saw that someone had left the front door wide open. I didn’t think any more of it until I reached the head of the stairs.’

Mary stopped speaking, her face twisted with pain as she recalled what happened next. ‘At first I thought it was a sack someone had left there. I ran downstairs and saw that it wasn’t a sack … that it was … Mr Stephen. I could see all the blood … and I knew … knew he was … dead.’

Frank took over the narrative, as much to give Mary chance to recover, I guessed. ‘I was in the garden all afternoon, cutting back a load of brush and dead wood. It was an ideal day for it, clear and bright. I’d almost finished when I heard Mary scream. I’d stacked the smaller cuttings for composting and started a bonfire with the woodier stems. Nothing goes to waste. I even dig the ash from the fires into the flower beds to enrich the soil. Anyway, I’d just stacked the wheelbarrow with the final load when I heard Mary, and knew at once there was something terribly wrong. I rushed up to the house and saw her standing over Mr Stephen’s body.’

‘Did you see the wound?’

Frank shook his head. ‘No, he was lying face down. I checked his neck for a pulse, but there was nothing, not even a flicker.’

‘Did you hear any other sounds before your wife screamed?’ Eve asked.

‘Like a gunshot, you mean? No, the police asked me that, several times. I explained that I knew none of the estates round us were shooting that day, and I’d have noticed if I’d heard any gunfire. We do get a bit of trouble with poachers and I’d have gone to investigate if I’d heard a shot.’

‘Can either of you think of anyone who might have had a motive for killing him?’ I glanced at Robert and smiled apologetically. ‘Present company excepted, that is.’

‘The police asked us that, too,’ Frank responded immediately. ‘The answer is no, but that’s partly because Mr Stephen was very reserved, especially about his private life. Secretive, you might say.’

‘What about his social life?’ Eve asked. ‘Did he entertain often? Dinner parties, that sort of thing?’

Mary Jolly answered this, choosing her words carefully. ‘He didn’t have anything like that. He was a bit of a recluse. And when his lady friends came to visit him he used to see to the catering himself.’ She paused, before adding, ‘I have no proof, but I believe that they might have been … professionals.’

‘You mean prostitutes?’

‘That would be my guess. But in the last year or so, there has only been one regular visitor. She wasn’t like the others. A class above, I’d say. She was at the manor most weekends, and occasionally during the week. When she visited, I wasn’t asked to prepare an extra bedroom,’ she added diplomatically.

‘Can you tell us anything about her?’

‘Not much,’ Mary replied. ‘Her name is Kathy King, and she lives in Barton-le-Dale. Frank could tell you where, because Mr Stephen occasionally asked Frank to drive her home.’

‘Didn’t the police ask you about her, or about Pengelly’s social life? I’m surprised, because we know Detective Inspector Hardy, and those are the sort of questions he would ask right at the outset.’

‘It wasn’t him we spoke to. It was a detective sergeant called Holmes, and he seemed more concerned with searching the house and grounds, looking for the weapon. He did ask if Mr Stephen kept any strange knives or similar things.’

‘I wonder why Hardy wasn’t there. Did he interview you, Robert?’

‘No, it was Detective Sergeant Holmes. He told me he had taken temporary charge of the case in Hardy’s absence. Holmes was the one who phoned me at work.’

‘Perhaps it would be an idea to tell the police about this Kathy King woman,’ Eve suggested.

I agreed, and as we were discussing it, Alison interrupted, speaking for the first time. ‘Does that mean you’ll stay and help us? Help Robert, I mean?’

‘I suppose it does, but first, I think we’ll have to find somewhere to stay. It will be a bit of a long haul driving to and fro on a regular basis. We could book in here, I guess.’

‘Why not stay at the manor?’ The suggestion came from Robert. I looked at him, surprised by the comment in view of his hostility to Barton Manor.

Eve was rather more forthright. ‘I thought you said you detest the place?’

‘I did, but as we were talking I realised that whatever my feelings are, I have responsibilities, and they can’t be shirked. However, I don’t fancy going there on my own. To be fair even with Alison along the place would seem empty, too much like before. The place holds too many bad memories. Perhaps if new people came to stay it might help erase some of them.’

‘If you’re going to have guests at the manor, Mr Robert, there will be a fair amount of work to do,’ Mary pointed out. ‘There will be bedrooms to air. The rooms will need the central heating on as well. And I’ll have to do some shopping. Mr Stephen was very frugal, and there isn’t much in the freezer or fridge, and virtually no fresh stuff. It’s not a problem, but even with Frank’s help I’ll need a bit of time.’

Robert realised his mistake. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to spring it on you like that. How about you tell us when you can have the house ready, and we’ll work round that?’

‘I suppose I can sort the rooms out today, and I could do the shopping tomorrow.’

‘No, that won’t do. How does this sound?’ Robert smiled reassuringly at Mary, then looked at Alison for confirmation as he spoke. ‘If Frank can run Alison and me to the railway station, we’ll go back to Leeds and collect some clothing; we only brought an overnight bag. We’ll need to let people know where we’ll be, so that will take us a day. Then, if you can manage to prepare things tomorrow, Frank can take you shopping in two days and you can pick us up when the Leeds train gets in.’

‘That would be fine, Mr Robert.’

‘Would you do me a favour, Mary? Please drop the mister bit? Robert will do.’

‘Yes, Mr Robert.’

‘Is that OK with you?’ Robert asked us. ‘Will you come and stay at the manor for the time being?’

‘Yes, we’ll go home and collect some clothes and come back the day after tomorrow,’ Eve told him.

‘And on the way we’ll call in at the police station and tell DI Hardy we’ve been asked to help and that we’re going to be staying at the manor. We can mention that woman, Kathy King, too. Hardy’s sure to want a word with her. Can you give us her address, Frank?’

As I was speaking I looked across and saw Mary whisper something in her husband’s ear. I stood up, preparing to help Eve on with her coat, but before I could move, Frank said, somewhat hesitantly, ‘Mary would like to know … er … how many rooms to prepare.’

Chapter Two

‘That was tactful of Mrs Jolly,’ Eve said as we walked to the car.

‘Yes, they seem a really nice couple. It must be difficult for them though, given that they will be extremely worried.’

‘Worried about the murder, you mean?’

‘Actually, I was thinking more of the future. Their employer is dead, and they’ve just heard Robert Pengelly say in no uncertain terms how much he dislikes Barton Manor and that he has no interest in taking over the estate. I assume the lodge where Frank and Mary live is what’s known as a tied cottage, so they face the twin threats of unemployment and. . .