The Kaiser's Gold

  THE KAISER’S GOLD

  Eden House Mysteries #2

  Bill Kitson

  The second thrilling, chilling instalment in the Eden House Mysteries by best-selling author Bill Kitson.

  ‘Babes in the wood, babes in the wood, who will be next to be covered in blood?’ For generations, the children of Rowandale have recited that grim rhyme. Now those sinister words are becom i ng a stark reality …

  The last of the influential Latimer family has died and the estate is in dispute. Racehorse trainer Barbara Lewis stands to inherit the prized Latimer racing stables, but not everyone’s happy about that …

  When Barbara’s friend Eve Samuels goes to visit her, an intruder is discovered in the stables. The seemingly trivial incident sparks a spiralling chain of intrigue, violence, and murder. Barbara's ex-husband is found stabbed to death and she is chief suspect – along with a mysterious man who has recently been seen in the area. The local detectives are so inept that Eve and her boyfriend, Adam Bailey, investigate. Are the murders random acts of a deranged psychopath, or are more sinister forces at work?

  Acknowledgments

  My thanks to Hazel Cushion and the team at Accent Press for their hard work and professionalism, especially to Greg Rees, whose meticulous editing went far beyond correcting my punctuation and grammar.

  Finally, to my wife Val, for the countless hours she spent getting the manuscript into order.

  For Val.

  Proof-reader, copy-editor, unpaid agent, publicist, events manager, wife, lover and best friend, with all my love and admiration.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty one

  Chapter Twenty two

  Chapter Twenty three

  Chapter Twenty four

  Chapter Twenty five

  Chapter Twenty six

  Chapter Twenty seven

  Chapter Twenty eight

  Chapter One

  November 1980

  I was asleep, and so for some time didn’t hear the phone. Eventually, the persistent ringing roused me and I staggered downstairs, shivering in the chill November night air. I wondered sleepily who could be calling me in the middle of the night. If it was some drunk who had dialled the wrong number I would be less than happy; and keen to let them know it.

  It wasn’t a drunk, and it wasn’t a wrong number. It was far more serious.

  ‘Hello,’ I began cautiously.

  ‘Adam, oh, Adam, I need you…I need help. I think I’ve killed someone!’

  My brain cleared, the last fog of sleep lifting instantly. ‘Eve? Where are you? What happened?’

  ‘I’m at Barbara’s house. She’s away. I…Adam, please…can you come?’

  ‘Calm down, Eve. Tell me what happened.’

  I heard her take a deep breath. ‘Barbara had to take two horses to Fontwell Park races. She won’t be back until tomorrow, I’m here alone. I woke up and heard a noise outside. I went out and saw someone in the stables. It was dark. I…I hit him–with a baseball bat.’

  I wondered briefly where she’d got a baseball bat from, but this was not the time to ask. ‘What happened then?’

  ‘He fell on the floor of the loose box. When I touched him he didn’t move. I shut him in then ran back to the house. I rang you straight away.’

  ‘OK, give me time to get dressed and I’ll be on my way.’

  I covered the fifteen miles between Laithbrigg, where I live, and the village of Rowandale, where Barbara Lewis’s racing stables were, in record time. As it was dark, the country road was empty of traffic, and the one perilous moment came when a startled fallow deer dashed across in front of my car.

  As I drove, I wondered what sort of a mess Eve had got herself into this time. We had met almost a year ago, as guests of her sister and brother-in-law, a visit that had almost cost both of us our lives at the hands of a crazed killer. It had also been when I fell in love with Eve. Falling for her was the easy part. Persuading her to give up her successful career and leave London for the tranquillity of the Yorkshire Dales to live with me was far more difficult.

  Eve hadn’t turned me down flat, not in so many words, but she had made it abundantly clear that she wasn’t ready to commit to a relationship yet. In the months since, encouraged by the support of her older sister Harriet, I had continued my long-distance courtship of Eve. I was beginning to believe I was making some headway when she announced that she intended to visit her old schoolfriend Barbara Lewis who, fortunately for me, happened to live in the next village. Her intention would also be spend a few days at Dene Cottage with me. Now, it appeared that I would see Eve earlier than anticipated, but hardly in an ideal situation. I was still wondering what I would find there when I pulled up outside Linden House Stables, on the outskirts of Rowandale village.

  Eve had obviously been on the lookout for the car’s headlights, because she was already by the gate when I got out of the car. I hugged her, and as she clung to me, reflected wryly that I’d dreamed of this embrace, but in vastly different circumstances. She led me past the house towards the quadrangle of brick-built, single-storey loose boxes that formed the stable block. She pointed to the first door. ‘He’s in there.’

  Apart from the clothing I’d put on hurriedly, the only item I’d taken from Dene Cottage was my torch, and I shone this on the door. It was locked. I glanced back. Eve was waiting a few yards away, obviously fearful of what I would find inside. ‘Did you lock the door?’

  She looked puzzled. ‘I thought the key was in the lock but look, it’s on that nail where it’s kept.’ She pointed upwards to the right of the entrance.

  ‘But you didn’t put it there?’

  ‘Not that I remember.’

  As I took down the key, Eve told me where to find the light switch. I took a deep breath, opened the door, and reached for the light. I stepped inside. ‘Eve,’ I called to her, ‘are you certain you locked the door?’

  ‘I think I did, but now I can’t be sure, why?’

  ‘Well, either your victim became a ghost and passed through the wall, or you didn’t lock it. I think he must have recovered and walked out of here.’ Even as I spoke I wondered what sort of burglar would lock the door behind him, replacing the key on the hook. And how did he know where to find it?

  Eve hurried forward and joined me in the entrance. ‘Look, you can see blood on the floor.’

  ‘I didn’t doubt that you hit him, or that he bled. I think you might have intended to lock the door, but because you were so upset you panicked and ran.’

  ‘I still don’t understand. If he came round and I hadn’t locked him in, why didn’t he just scarper? Why did he lock the door behind him? He must have done, because I’ve just watched you unlock it. What sort of burglar does that make him?’

  ‘Exactly what I was thinking. Perhaps he wasn’t a burglar. Perhaps he was sent to tamper with one of Barbara’s horses. To nobble it, I think the expression is. Has she any horses running in important races, do you know?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Apart from the two she took to Fontwell today she only has one or two runners in the next few weeks, and I don’t know if they’re entered in any of the big races.’<
br />
  Another, far darker motive occurred to me as Eve was speaking, but I decided this wasn’t the time to voice it. If the motive wasn’t robbery or to get at one of her horses then it was possible that the intruder’s target had been Barbara. ‘Would you like me to stay?’

  ‘Oh, Adam, yes please. I wouldn’t feel safe on my own here tonight.’

  We locked up, hung the key back on the nail, and as we turned to go towards the house I switched my torch on. We had almost reached the door when I saw movement in my peripheral vision. ‘Who is it?’ I demanded, my voice loud and confident, although I felt far less than so. ‘Who’s there? Come on, show yourself. Now!’

  My torch beam illuminated the figure of a man standing close to the high brick wall alongside the loose boxes. I stared at him in surprise. He was, I guessed, somewhere between thirty and fifty years old, of medium height and build. Whether he was ugly or good-looking was impossible to determine, for his shoulder-length hair and an abundant beard any Santa would have envied concealed almost all of his features. His forehead was disfigured by an ugly bruise and a gash from which blood had seeped. This, I guessed to be the result of Eve’s handiwork. I assumed him to be a tramp, and repeated my question. ‘What are you doing here?’

  He frowned, as if the simple question puzzled him. His reply certainly baffled us. ‘I was sent here, I guess. Yes, sir, that’s correct; I had to deliver the warning. I had to tell someone I’d seen them. They were by the bell…’ he hesitated. ‘But I don’t think it was you I had to see. The trouble is I get very confused.’

  You and me both, I thought. Eve spoke for the first time, anticipating my question by a short head, to use local parlance. ‘Seen what, or who?’

  ‘Shouldn’t that be whom?’ His English was immaculate, although there was a trace of an accent, but I was unable to determine where from. ‘I meant the children, but of course if the warning wasn’t for you, that wouldn’t mean anything. They were just like the rhyme, all covered with blood.’

  I felt certain by now that the man was suffering from concussion, for none of what he was saying made the slightest bit of sense. ‘You’ve had a nasty bump on the head. Why not come inside and let us attend to it. We can have a nice cup of tea. I’m sure that’ll make you feel better.’

  I saw Eve staring at me, her doubts as to the wisdom of allowing the intruder into Barbara’s house plain. Nevertheless, she went ahead and opened the back door. The vagrant stood on the threshold, blinking in the bright light of the neon tubes, before I ushered him to the table and made him sit down on one of the chairs.

  As I’d escorted him inside, I’d noticed no body odour and I was interested to see that both the hair and beard were well-combed and clean, as were his fingernails. His clothing, although obviously far from new, was also neat and tidy. If this man was indeed a tramp, he still retained a measure of pride in his appearance. I felt it was time to try and draw him out; to obtain some identification. ‘My name’s Adam,’ I told him, ‘Adam Bailey; and this is my girlfriend Eve Samuels. What’s your name?’

  He smiled. ‘Adam and Eve? That sounds right and proper.’ The smile faded. ‘I don’t know…I have trouble remembering…simple things like my name, or where I come from. People ask, and they don’t seem to understand that I can’t recall who I am.’

  ‘This isn’t recent then? Not since you were hit on the head?’

  ‘I don’t believe so. I think it’s been going on for a long time, but I can’t be sure. I have a feeling that coming here was important, but don’t ask me why.’

  He looked up as Eve came across with a small bowl and a couple of cloths. ‘Put your head back, please. I’m going to bathe your wound. The water has some antiseptic in, so it will sting, I’m afraid.’

  He leaned back in the chair, waiting for Eve to apply the cloth, and his eyes concentrated on the wall opposite. ‘Oh, you’ve moved the clock,’ he said.

  Eve paused, her hand in mid air, water dripping onto the table. ‘Have you been in this room before?’

  He frowned, as if the question was a strange one. ‘I guess so, ma’am.’

  As he was being tended, I asked again about the weird statement he’d made outside. ‘What did you mean about the children? Something about a rhyme; and them being covered with blood?’

  ‘Don’t you know it?’ He seemed surprised by our ignorance, and began to recite something that might have been a nursery rhyme.

  ‘Babes in the wood, babes in the wood, how did you get to be covered with blood?’ Even his voice changed as he chanted, to one that sounded almost childlike.

  ‘What does it mean?’ Eve asked.

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t think anyone does. I believe it’s a warning, but that may be only my imagination. Things get muddled up and I can never be sure what’s real and what isn’t.’

  Eve had completed her ministrations. ‘I don’t think it needs stitching,’ she told him.

  He drained the last of his tea and stood up. ‘I should go,’ he told us. ‘I have to find the person who needs to be warned. I thought if I came here I could deliver it, but it seems I can’t, because it isn’t for you.’

  ‘What is this warning?’ I asked. ‘You’ve mentioned it before.

  ‘It’s to do with the children. They only come out when someone has to be warned.’

  ‘Warned? What about?’

  ‘Warned that someone is going to die, of course.’ He looked at each of us in turn. ‘That’s good, isn’t it? The fact that the warning isn’t for you, I mean?’

  He turned away and moved towards the door, but had only taken a couple of paces before his knees gave way and he leant heavily against the wall. I rushed over. ‘Perhaps we ought to get him to hospital,’ I told Eve.

  ‘No, we can’t do that, Adam. Please. I’ll explain later, but things are really bad for Barbara at the moment. Any whiff of scandal or strange goings-on could mean her losing everything. Can’t we look after him here?’

  I agreed, although it was against my better judgement. It took a while and more cups of tea before we convinced our visitor we would be happier knowing he was safe with us.

  ‘OK, I’ll stay,’ he agreed. He stood and headed for the hall. ‘I’ll stay in the blue room, shall I?’ And with that he headed upstairs.

  Eve and I stared after him, more confused than ever.

  ‘The blue room?’ I looked at Eve.

  Eve shrugged her shoulders. ‘There’s a single room at the back of the house. It has blue wallpaper.’

  Moments later, we headed after him. I carried his overcoat which had been left on the kitchen chair. As I went to fold it, something in the pocket bumped against my arm. Caution warred with curiosity, before I dipped my hand in to remove the object. I stared at it in some surprise. Whatever I might have been expecting him to carry, a book of poetry was way down the list. Eve’s expression was as puzzled as mine.

  I tapped gently on the bedroom door Eve had indicated, and pushed it slowly open. The tramp had removed his shirt and I saw his back reflected in the dressing table mirror. I tried hard not to gasp. His skin was tanned, deeply, as if he had spent a long time in far warmer climates than ours. However, his back was criss-crossed with a series of white diagonal stripes that the tan could not touch. Somewhere, at some point in the past he was unable to remember, this man had been whipped unmercifully, flogged to within an inch of his life. He must have a constitution like iron to have survived such an ordeal. ‘You left your overcoat in the kitchen,’ I stammered. ‘I didn’t want you to wonder where it was.’ I bade him goodnight and hurried downstairs to find Eve.

  ‘I’m not surprised he can’t remember anything,’ I told her. ‘His mind has probably shut the memory out because it’s too traumatic.’ Although it was by now the early hours of Sunday morning, neither of us was in the least sleepy. ‘What do you make of your victim?’ I asked her.

  ‘Don’t call him that, even as a joke. I’m so worried I might have caused him real harm.’

  ‘I do
n’t think you did. Admittedly hitting someone over the head with a baseball bat isn’t conducive to improving their health, but he was mobile, conscious, and lucid, even if we couldn’t make head nor tail of what he was talking about. And why were you reluctant to call the police or ambulance? You muttered something about Barbara being in trouble. What did you mean by that?’

  ‘Barbara made me promise not to say anything about it to anyone, so please don’t repeat a word of what I’m about to tell you. What about the man upstairs, though? Do you think delaying treatment might make his condition worse?’

  It wouldn’t do it any good, I thought, but seeing the anguished expression on Eve’s face, I refrained from telling her so. ‘Why don’t you make us a coffee and you can explain what you meant about Barbara.’

  Chapter Two

  The distraction was welcome and after she put the coffee mugs on the table, Eve told me what she’d heard from her old schoolfriend. ‘Babs is in the middle of a very messy and acrimonious divorce. Her husband ran up a load of debt and then scarpered to go live with a woman from where he works. Babs filed for divorce, but he’s employed a solicitor who has lodged an enormous counter-claim. It alleges that she mistreated him, citing physical abuse and mental cruelty, plus denying him his conjugal rights for almost all the duration of the marriage.’

  ‘If they’ve cited physical abuse they would need eyewitnesses to make that stick.’

  ‘Unfortunately, they do. Two of them, to be precise; plus some very ugly photos. When Babs found out he was having an affair, she confronted him and during the argument struck him across the face with her riding crop before throwing him out. He had the photos taken a couple of days later when the bruising on his face was at its worst.’

  ‘That’s bad. What about the witnesses?’

  ‘It’s all part of the same sorry tale. The confrontation took place in the stable yard, in front of Barbara’s head lad and the feed merchant she used.’

  ‘And they’re willing to give evidence for her husband?’