Viridian Tears (33 page)

“It’s probably too heavy for you.”

“If you think you can do better, Ms. Jones, you’re welcome to try.”

“No, I meant the digger. Could we not use that to lift it?”

“Good idea.” He turned to Graham. “Mr. Browning? Would you ask Mrs. Maguire if she has some rope, please?”

“Sure.” He went over to the backhoe and opened the door. Meinwen was unable to hear the conversation but he opened a panel on the side of the tractor and pulled out a towrope, which he tossed to the inspector. White tied it around the ring and passed the free end to Graham who tied it onto the excavator bucket while Meinwen helped White out of the pit.

The motor roared as Eden began lifting the slab.

White nudged Meinwen. “This had better not turn out to be a body. I could be cited as an accessory after the fact.”

“It won’t be.” Meinwen tried to peer into the darkness as the slab was lifted. “Burbridge went to a great deal of trouble to reveal this spot. He wouldn’t have led us so eloquently to a murder victim.”

“I didn’t mention anything about a murder.”

“You didn’t have to, Inspector. I know that expression well enough by now.”

“Will you look at that.” White peered into the hole. “It’s a ruddy big crate with letters painted on the side. Is that what we’ve gone to all this trouble for?” He grinned round at the others.

“I think you’ll find that’s just the packing crate, Inspector. The real treasure is inside.”

“Treasure? What treasure are we talking about, exactly.”

“One that may lead you to multiple convictions in the Greater Metropolitan area.” Meinwen smiled. “It’s the legacy of Eddie Burbridge.”

“The witchfinder’s chest.” Graham pointed into the hole as the concrete was lifted away. “You crafty bugger, Eddie. All this time I thought you’d hidden it in the house.”

Eden moved the slab to one side and shut off the engine. She climbed down from the cab to view the hole. “What is it?”

Meinwen gripped the inspector’s arm. “The seventeenth century chest of a witchfinder sergeant called John Stearne, but it seems Mr. Browning already knew about it?”

Graham looked up. “Of course. Everyone knows about the chest.”

Michelle looked from Meinwen to her housemate. “Graham? I don’t think they do. Meinwen and I only found out about it yesterday.”

“That must be it then.” Graham gave a half-smile. “You must have told me last night when you were ranting about how manipulative this woman was, making you drive to the edge of Cornwall.”

“No…I’m pretty sure I didn’t.” She looked at Meinwen. “I didn’t. You asked me not to.”

“I think Mr. Browning knows about it from another source. Your father told you, didn’t he?”

“Your father?” Michelle shook her head, looking at Graham. “What does your father have to do with this? You told me he was dead.”

“I didn’t make the connection until he turned up with you today.” Meinwen clasped the inspector’s arm. He sensed what she was doing and shifted slightly to cover her hand from the others as she felt for his pocketknife. “You’re the son of Malcolm Glover, aren’t you? Right-hand man to Eddie Burbridge when he was an East-End crime magnate. You grew up with the stories of Eddie ducking out with the profits from his life of crime and followed him here.”

“You’re a clever woman, Miss Jones. I’ll give you that.” Graham took a long step to one side and whipped out a seven-inch knife, a replica Japanese blade supplied by the local army and navy outlet. Its hilt was in the shape of a Chinese dragon. He pressed it to Eden’s neck. “Best you drop that little blade, Inspector, and your gun, too. I can see it there, under your coat. This knife isn’t quite legal to carry but I assure you it is quite deadly.”

Meinwen stepped away from the inspector, her hands empty. “If you hurt her your life won’t be worth living. Why don’t you give me the knife and we’ll talk this over like sensible adults.”

“I bet you wish I would.” Graham pressed the blade closer to Eden’s neck where it pricked the skin, a drop of blood welling up and spreading across the blade. “I bet you wish I’d give up my advantage and watch my money go sliding out of my life.”

“Your money?”

“Yes. It was supposed to be shared among all the members of the syndicate. My dad should have got upward of three hundred grand which would have gone to me.”

There was a sudden clang and White crumpled to the ground. “I’m not dead yet, son.” Malcolm leaned on the shovel. The noise of the backhoe had completely covered his approach. “Now stand to one side while I pull this crate out.”

Chapter 39

Meinwen hadn’t seen Eden’s kitchen before and would have preferred to have been invited to see it as a friend, not forced up the private stairwell at gunpoint and bound to a Shaker style kitchen chair that was, unfortunately, far too sturdy. John Stearne’s chest, carried up between Eden and herself, had been given pride of place on the kitchen table. She pulled against her bonds. By the feel of them, they were competent but not fancy. Graham was no bondage aficionado with a mental catalogue of shibari techniques. She glanced across at Michelle, who looked as terrified as a five year old in a class full of high school kids. She hadn’t been in on the plot, then.

She assessed their captors. Malcolm was the more dangerous of the two, even if he didn’t have White’s knife and gun. He had a hard look in his eyes that made her think it would bother him to kill all of them in pursuit of his goals. He’d killed before, obviously. At the moment he was investigating the contents of the fridge. She looked at him. “Why did you kill Joe?”

“Hmm?” He held a block of cheese as if it was an apple, taking multiple bites and speaking through a mouthful of processed fats. “Who?”

“The old man on the canal. You bashed his head in with a rock. Was he that much of a threat to you?”

“Huh.” Malcolm glanced across at Graham, methodically tying up the inspector. “I didn’t. Not really. I did catch him snooping about on the towpath. It wasn’t until then that I realized it was him who’d found the key. Could have saved us a lot of trouble if we’d known. All night, we spent dredging that canal, looking for some clue to the Burbridge fortune. He was looking for more of the same when I came up to him. He was so frightened he dropped his bag of rocks then slipped on the mud and cracked his head open.”

“But why just dump the body on the compost heap? You had all the facilities to bury him where no one would find him.”

“Too big a risk. If he was found it’d come straight back to me. This way, it almost certainly wasn’t.”

“Was it you who killed Eddie Burbridge too?”

“No. That was an accident an’ all. Couldn’t hold his drink any more. We bumped into each other outside the Laverstone Arms and had a drink for old times sake. Times were, he could drink an alcoholic under the table. Not any more.”

“He’d been teetotal since he met Shirley. Did you push him in?”

“No. He slipped and fell, like I said.”

“But you didn’t try to help.”

“How could we? He was dead in an instant.”

“You could have rung for help.”

“Who would I have called? The coastguard?” He laughed and took another bite of the cheese. “Now I’ve answered your questions, Miss Jones, I think it’s time you answered one of mine. Where’s the key to that chest?”

“Why would I have it?”

“We know you do. You took a picture of it and sent it to…” He scowled and looked at Graham.

“Winston’s computer.” Graham stood from his task of binding the inspector. “It was just chance it popped up but once I saw it I knew one of you had it, and it wasn’t Winston.”

“How did you…”

“Know it was on Winston’s computer? Serendipity. I’m a jobbing builder with Burbridge Construction. I was renovating the garage on Gaunt's Lane.” Graham gave a smile of triumph, revealing his crooked teeth, and began to tie up Michelle. “Sorry, love. I’d like to say it’s been fun but you really are a cold fish.”

“I posted it to the British Museum.” Meinwen glared at Graham. “You saw me post it this afternoon.”

“I saw you post something. No telling what, though.”

Eden spoke up. “Why did you try to blackmail me? You tipped your hand, stopped me trusting you.”

Malcolm picked up a tea towel to wipe the remnants of cheese from his hands. “Endgame. Had to flush out the interested parties, didn’t I? I knew you’d tell your mate, here.”

Graham finished binding Michelle and stepped toward a painting on the wall. “That’s an interesting choice of décor.” Graham squinted at the surface. “Post abstract modernism, influenced by…” He chewed at his bottom lip. “Klee?”

“Seurat.” Eden struggled against her bonds but the knots were tied with boy scout competency. “But it’s pre-naturalist, not post-modern.”

“Figurative?” Graham approached to within a few inches of the surface. “Interesting technique.”

“What all this bollocks?” Malcolm brandished a gun at the woman. “We didn’t come here to talk about bloody paintings. Cut her up a bit. Where’s the key to the chest? That’s all I want to know.” He sneered at the artwork. “Anyway, a kiddie could do better than that.”

Graham stepped back. “It’s a body, isn’t it? A decomposing body with maggots in a gravitational mass. Clever.” He gave a brief smile to the bound woman. “Odd choice for a kitchen, though. What’s it called?”

Eden gave a slight shrug. “
You Are What You Eat
.”

“Are we finished with our chat?” Malcolm picked up a steak knife and slashed the canvas in a long, jagged diagonal. He turned to Eden. “That’s what I think of your bloody art. Now where’s the key? You might as well tell us. If you don’t I’m just going to crack open that chest and it’ll break my heart to do so, considering its historical value.”

“You bloody thug.” Graham growled at the other man. “You’re forgetting I went to St. Martin’s for five years. I’d still be an artist today if crime and violence didn’t pay better.”

“I know you did, son, of course I do. Third class degree but a first class engraver, eh?” Malcolm cackled. “Best plates in the business. We’d all be rich if Burbridge hadn’t scarpered with them.”

“Plates? You’re forgers?” Meinwen shook her head. “I didn’t see that one coming.”

“No, I suppose not.”

“We’re not unreasonable men.” Graham picked up the hourglass from the kitchen shelf and turned it over. Pink sand began dribbling into the belly of a rooster. “Just tell me where the key is. We’ll take the chest and you can go on with your lives and forget all this…unpleasantness…”

Meinwen could never understand the use of poultry as egg timers. It was like using a cow to sell milk or a pig to represent a butcher’s. It seemed part of the collective unconscious to remind ourselves that, like Lamia, we were all capable of devouring our children. The sand streamed grain by grain to the bottom while that in the top bulb clumped, paused, fell.

“Miss Jones?”

Meinwen looked up. Had she missed something? “Yes?”

“Tell me where the key to the chest is. He really will crowbar it open and I’d rather that not happen. I know you’ve been researching the history of this chest. You know its historical value.”

“I couldn’t possibly.” Her fingers tingled, indicating the ropes were too tight. Across the room Eden’s eyes were wide, terrified.

“You really want to see your friend suffer?” He picked up a kitchen knife, one of the small ones used to cut tomatoes. Sweat beaded on Eden’s forehead.

“I don’t want her to suffer, no. Best you kill her quickly, really. I harbor no illusions about our fate. You’ve admitted killing several times for this box already and we know who you are.” She shrugged as best she could with her hands tied behind her. “Besides, I don’t have it.”

“I find that hard to believe. “

“Why?

Malcolm stood behind Meinwen and patted her shoulder. “Because you wouldn’t post the key to a box you were convinced you were about to dig up.” She felt the flurry of movement as he whipped the towel around her throat and pulled. Her vision shrank to a pinpoint as the breath left her.

Nothing but the pressure had changed when she came to, though Graham was rifling through the Inspector’s pockets. Malcolm’s voice sounded behind her. “She’s back.” He tapped her cheek with the inspector’s gun.