Hannaford rubbed his jaw. Let me see it was after they printed about it in the Western Morning News; two days after, to my best recollection. Thatud make it five days ago, so it was Tuesday.
I said, Thank you, Mr Hannaford. The police might be interested in this, you know.
Ill tell them all Ive told you, he said earnestly, and put his hand on my sleeve. Whens the funeral to be? Id like to be there to pay my respects.
I hadnt thought of that; too much had happened in too short a time. I said, I dont know when it will be. Therell have to be an inquest first.
Of course, said Hannaford. Best thing to do would be to tell Nigel as soon as youre sure, and hell let me know. And others, too. Bob Wheale was well liked around here.
Ill do that.
We went back into the bar and Nigel caught my eye. I put my tankard on the bar counter and he nodded across the room. Thats the Yank who is staying here now. Fallon.
I turned and saw a preternaturally thin man sitting near to the fire holding a whisky glass. He was about sixty years of age, his head was gaunt and fleshless and his skin tanned to the colour of well worn leather. As I watched he seemed to shiver and he drew his chair closer to the fire.
I turned back to Nigel, who said, He told me he spends a lot of time in Mexico. He doesnt like the English climate he thinks its too cold.
IV
I spent that night alone at Hay Tree Farm. Perhaps I should have stayed at the Cott and saved myself a lot of misery, but I didnt. Instead I wandered through the silent rooms, peopled with the shadowy figures of memories, and grew more and more depressed.
I was the last of the Wheales there was no one else. No uncles or aunts or cousins, no sisters or brothers just me. This echoing, empty house, creaking with the centuries, had witnessed a vast procession down the years a pageant of Wheales Elizabethan, Jacobean, Restoration, Regency, Victorian, Edwardian. The little patch of England around the house had been sweated over by Wheales for more than four centuries in good times and bad, and now it all sharpened down to a single point me. Me a grey little man in a grey little job.
It wasnt fair!
I found myself standing in Bobs room. The bed was still dishevelled where I had whipped away the blankets to cover him and I straightened it almost automatically, smoothing down the counterpane. His dressing-table was untidy, as it always had been, and stuck in the crack up one side of the mirror was his collection of unframed photographs one of our parents, one of me, one of Stalwart, the big brute of a horse that was his favourite mount, and a nice picture of Elizabeth. I pulled that one down to get a better look and something fluttered to the top of the dressing-table.
I picked it up. It was Halsteads card which Hannaford had spoken of. I looked at it listlessly. Paul Halstead. Avenida Quintillana 1534. Mexico City.
The telephone rang, startlingly loud, and I picked it up to hear the dry voice of Mr Mount. Hello, Jeremy, he said. I just thought Id tell you that you have no need to worry about the funeral arrangements. Ill take care of all that for you.
Thats very kind of you, I said, and then choked up.
Your father and I were very good friends, he said. But I dont think Ive ever told you that if he hadnt married your mother, then I might have done so. He rang off and the phone went dead.
I slept that night in my own room, the room I had always had ever since I was a boy. And I cried myself to sleep as I had not done since I was a boy.
TWO
It was only at the inquest that I found out the name of the dead man. It was Victor Niscemi, and he was an American national.
The proceedings didnt take long. First, there was a formal evidence of identification, then I told the story of how I had found the body of Niscemi and my brother dying in the farmhouse kitchen. Dave Goosan then stepped up and gave the police evidence, and the gold tray and the shotguns were offered as exhibits.
The coroner wrapped it up very quickly and the verdict on Niscemi was that he had been killed in self defence by Robert Blake Wheale. The verdict on Bob was that he had been murdered by Victor Niscemi and a person or persons unknown.
I saw Dave Goosan in the narrow cobbled street outside the Guildhall where the inquest had taken place. He jerked his head at two thick-set men who were walking away. From Scotland Yard, he said. This is in their bailiwick now. They come in on anything that might be international.
You mean, because Niscemi was an American.
Thats right. Ill tell you something else, Jemmy. He had form on the other side of the Atlantic. Petty thieving and robbery with violence. Not much.
Enough to do for Bob, I said viciously.
Dave sighed in exasperated agreement. To tell you the truth, theres a bit of a mystery about this. Niscemi was never much of a success as a thief; he never had any money. Sort of working class, if you know what I mean. He certainly never had the money to take a trip over here not unless hed pulled off something bigger than usual for him. And nobody can see why he came to England. Hed be like a fish out of water, just the same as a Bermondsey burglar would be in New York. Still, its being followed up.
What did Smith find out about Halstead and Gatt, the Yanks I turned up?
Dave looked me in the eye. I cant tell you that, Jemmy. I cant discuss police work with you even if you are Bobs brother. The super would have my scalp. He tapped me on the chest. Dont forget that you were a suspect once, lad. The startlement must have shown on my face. Well, dammit; who has benefited most by Bobs death? All that stuff about the tray might have been a lot of flummery. I knew it wasnt you, but to the super you were just another warm body wandering about the scene of the crime.
I let out a deep breath. I trust Im not still on his list of suspects, I said ironically.
Dont give it another thought, although Im not saying the super wont. Hes the most unbelieving bastard Ive ever come across. If he fell across a body himself hed keep himself on his own list. Dave pulled on his ear. Ill give you this much; it seems that Halstead is in the clear. He was in London and hes got an alibi for when he needs it. He grinned. He was picked up for questioning in the Reading Room of the British Museum. Those London coppers must be a tactful lot.
Who is he? What is he?
He says hes an archeologist, said Dave, and looked over my shoulder with mild consternation. Oh, Christ; here come those bloody reporters. Look, you nip into the church they wont have the brazen nerve to follow you in there. Ill fight a rear-guard action while you leave by the side door in the vestry.
I left him quickly and slipped into the churchyard. As I entered the church I heard the excited yelping as of hounds surrounding a stag at bay.
The funeral took place the day after the inquest. A lot of people turned up, most of whom I knew but a lot I didnt. All the people from Hay Tree Farm were there, including Madge and Jack Edgecombe who had come back from Jersey. The service was short, but even so I was glad when it was over and I could get away from all those sympathetic people. I had a word with Jack Edgecombe before I left. Ill see you up at the farm; there are things we must discuss.
The funeral took place the day after the inquest. A lot of people turned up, most of whom I knew but a lot I didnt. All the people from Hay Tree Farm were there, including Madge and Jack Edgecombe who had come back from Jersey. The service was short, but even so I was glad when it was over and I could get away from all those sympathetic people. I had a word with Jack Edgecombe before I left. Ill see you up at the farm; there are things we must discuss.
I drove to the farm with a feeling of depression. So that was that! Bob was buried, and so, presumably, was Niscemi, unless the police still had his body tucked away somewhere in cold storage. But for the loose end of Niscemis hypothetical accomplice everything was neatly wrapped up and the world could get on with the worlds futile business as usual.
I thought of the farm and what there was to do and of how I would handle Jack, who might show a countrymans conservative resistance to my new-fangled ideas. Thus occupied I swung automatically into the farmyard and nearly slammed into the back of a big Mercedes that was parked in front of the house.
I got out of the car and, as I did so, so did the driver of the Mercedes, uncoiling his lean length like a strip of brown rawhide. It was Fallon, the American Nigel had pointed out at the Cott. He said, Mr Wheale?
Thats right.
I know I shouldnt intrude at this moment, he said. But Im pressed for time. My name is Fallon.
He held out his hand and I found myself clutching skeletally thin fingers. What can I do for you, Mr Fallon?
If you could spare me a few minutes its not easy to explain quickly. His voice was not excessively American.
I hesitated, then said, Youd better come inside.
He leaned into his car and produced a briefcase. I took him into Bobs my study and waved him to a chair, then sat down facing him, saying nothing.
He coughed nervously, apparently not knowing where to begin, and I didnt help him. He coughed again, then said, I am aware that this may be a sore point, Mr Wheale, but I wonder if I could see the gold tray you have in your possession.
Im afraid that is quite impossible, I said flatly.
Alarm showed in his eyes. You havent sold it?
Its still in the hands of the police.
Oh! He relaxed and flicked open the catch of the brief-case. Thats a pity. But I wonder if you could identify these photographs.
He passed across a sheaf of eight by ten photographs which I fanned out. They were glossy and sharp as a needle, evidently the work of a competent commercial photographer. They were pictures of the tray taken from every conceivable angle; some were of the tray as a whole and there was a series of close-up detail shots showing the delicate vine leaf tracery of the rim.
You might find these more helpful, said Fallon, and passed me another heap of eight by tens. These were in colour, not quite as sharp as the black and whites but perhaps making a better display of the tray as it really was.
I looked up. Where did you get these?
Does it matter?
The police might think so, I said tightly. This tray has figured in a murder, and they might want to know how you came by these excellent photographs of my tray.
Not your tray, he said gently. My tray.
That be damned for a tale, I said hotly. This tray has been used in this house for a hundred and fifty years that I am aware of. I dont see how the devil you can claim ownership.
He waved his hand. We are talking at cross purposes. Those photographs are of a tray at present in my possession which is now securely locked in a vault. I came here to find out if your tray resembled mine at all. I think you have answered my unspoken question quite adequately.
I looked at the photographs again, feeling a bit of a fool. This certainly looked like the tray I had seen so often, although whether it was an exact replica would be hard to say. I had seen the tray briefly the previous Saturday morning when Dave Goosan had shown it to me, but when had I seen it before that? It must have been around when I had previously visited Bob, but I had never noticed it. In fact, I had never examined it since I was a boy.
Fallon asked, Is it really like your tray?
I explained my difficulty and he nodded understandingly, and said, Would you consider selling me your tray, Mr Wheale? I will give you a fair price.
It isnt mine to sell.
Oh? I would have thought you would inherit it.
I did. But its in a sort of legal limbo. It wont be mine until my brothers will is probated. I didnt tell Fallon that Mount had suggested selling the damned thing; I wanted to keep him on a string and find out what he was really after. I never forgot for one minute that Bob had died because of that tray.
I see. He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. I suppose the police will release it into your possession.
I dont see why they shouldnt.
He smiled. Mr Wheale, will you allow me to examine the tray to photograph it? It need never leave the house: I have a very good camera at my disposal.
I grinned at him. I dont see why I should.
The smile was wiped away from his face as though it had never been. After a long moment it returned in the form of a sardonic quirk of the corner of his mouth. I see you are suspicious of me.
I laughed. Youre dead right. Wouldnt you be in my place?
I rather think I would, he said. Ive been stupid. I once saw a crack chess player make an obviously wrong move which even a tyro should have avoided. The expression on his face was comical in its surprise and was duplicated on Fallons face at that moment. He gave the impression of a man mentally kicking himself up the backside.
I heard a car draw up outside, so I got up and opened the casement. Jack and Madge were just getting out of their mini. I shouted, Give me a few more minutes, Jack; Im a bit tied up.
He waved and walked away, but Madge came over to the window. Would you like a cup of tea?
That seems a good idea. What about you, Mr Fallon would you like some tea?
That would be very nice, he said.
Then thats it, Madge. Tea for two in here, please. She went away and I turned back to Fallon. I think it would be a good idea if you told me what you are really getting at.
He said worriedly, I assure you I have absolutely no knowledge of the events leading to your brothers death. My attention was drawn to the tray by an article and a photograph in the Western Morning News which was late in getting to me. I came to Totnes immediately, arriving rather late on Friday evening
and you booked in at the Cott Inn.
He looked faintly surprised. Yes, I did. I intended going to see your brother on the Saturday morning but then I heard of the of what had happened
And so you didnt go. Very tactful of you, Mr Fallon. I suppose you realize youll have to tell this story to the police.
I dont see why.
Dont you? Then Ill tell you. Dont you know that the man who killed my brother was an American called Victor Niscemi?
Fallon seemed struck dumb and just shook his head.