Viridian Tears (35 page)

“David? Are you all right? Talk to me.” Eden’s voice wavered with her concern. “Don’t pass out on me. The ambulance will be here soon.” She looked across at Michelle and Meinwen. “What kind of person blocks a road to stop the emergency services?”

“A desperate one.” Meinwen spat out fibers. The rope tasted of diesel fuel, which made her feel sick. She gripped the end of the knot with her teeth again and worried at it. “Goddess save me from half-hitches.”

“You’d prefer a Turk’s Head?” Eden referred to a complex, difficult knot generally used decoratively, most commonly on whips and floggers.

“No, but a good reef knot would have been both secure and easy to release.”

“Just hurry, please. I’m worried about David.”

“We all are. Inspector White needs urgent attention, too. He’s been out cold for almost an hour.” Meinwen pulled a knot loose. “One down.”

“Out of how many?”

Meinwen shook her head, aware the others couldn’t see the gesture. “Too many.” There was a noise downstairs and she stiffened. “What was that?”

“The police?” Eden’s reply was barely more than a hiss.

“Maybe they’ve come back.” Michelle struggled, making Meinwen’s job harder. “Maybe Graham wants to take me with him.”

“More likely he convinced his mother not to leave us alive.”

A shout from downstairs made Meinwen laugh with relief. “
This is the police…
”

“Up here!” All three women shouted in unison. “Hurry.”

Seconds later, the kitchen door was opened by two officers from the armed response unit, followed by Sergeant Peters in a flak vest, a pistol held in both hands. His eyebrows rose when her saw Meinwen.

“They’re gone,” she said, correctly interpreting the movement as a question. “They said an airport. White’s been hit in the head with a shovel and David’s been stabbed in the leg.”

Peters holstered his gun while the two armed officers swept through the rest of the flat. He turned to the door and shouted for paramedics. Sergeant Wilde, who must have already been on the stairs, appeared a moment later carrying a medical kit and hurried across to DI White. She checked his pulse and his breathing. “Head wound. He’s stable and there’s no bleeding.” She crossed to David.

Peters pulled out a pocketknife and crossed to Meinwen, who jerked her head at Eden and Michelle. “Do them first.” He made short work of the ropes, sawing through them as if they were cheese strings. Eden ran across to her husband the moment she was freed. Michelle rubbed her arms while Peters freed Meinwen.

He nodded at Malcolm. “Friend of yours?”

“Not likely. He’s–” Meinwen’s explanation was interrupted by the arrival of the paramedics. They assessed the situation and went to the aid of David first. Meinwen hovered behind them while Peters gave orders to sweep the rest of the property.

Eden was holding David’s hand, crying and talking through her tears. “You’re going to be all right, David. Hold on. They’re going to take you to the hospital. Hang on, David.”

“Blackberry…” His voice was faint.

“Don’t try to talk, sir. Conserve your strength. Try to stay awake, please.” The paramedic prepared a syringe and injected him.

“Blackberry?”

“He wants his mobile.” Eden looked around the room. “Can anyone see it?”

“She has it.” His eyes fluttered and closed.

“David!” Eden grasped his hand so hard it was a wonder it didn’t break.

“We need to get him to Pity’s.” The medics laid out a stretcher.

“He needs his Blackberry.” Eden wouldn’t let go even as they transferred him to the stretcher and raised it. “Who has it?”

“Madam, please.” They pushed past and maneuvered the gurney through the kitchen and down the stairs, closely followed by Eden. They returned moments later for White.

The kitchen seemed silent when they’d all gone. Peters surveyed the blood, the broken chair, the cling film and the cut ropes. He visibly sagged. “That’s my crime scene buggered.”

Meinwen looked at Malcolm’s body. The blood had formed a sizeable pool around him, a good indication his heart had continued to beat for several minutes. Circular marks proved she’d knelt in the pool at least once and the hem of her skirt had soaked up a good portion. “At least you can close the cases on Edward Burbridge and Joseph Yanuk. He confessed to killing them both, though he claimed they were accidents.” She wished Eden were still here to lend her something to change into.

“Handy Glover. Petty thief, safecracker and general thug. Did ten years in Brixton in the eighties. Thought he was clean now. Just shows how wrong you can be.” Sergeant Peters smelled of sweat and gun oil. Meinwen was sorry he was spoken for. “Are you hurt? Your skirt’s all bloody.”

“It’s his blood, not mine.” She felt her neck, wondering if it was bruised. At least her voice had returned to normal.

“How about you?” He turned to Michelle, who still sat on the chair she’d been tied to.

She was staring at the body, but looked up as his question faded. “Me? I’m okay, thanks. A little shocked. Graham kept telling me he loved me. He bought fish for dinner.”

“Graham?” Peters raised his eyebrows.

“Graham Browning. Son of Malcolm Glover and Vera Shelton. He tied us up and stabbed David. I think he would have killed us.” She shook her head and crossed to the chest on the table. “It was all about this.”

“An old chest?”

“Not just any old chest.” She glanced up as several white-suited crime technicians arrived. They all looked to Peters, who gave them a discreet nod. Each moved to a part of the room and opened their cases. Meinwen returned her attention to the chest. “This belonged to John Stearne, assistant to the Witchfinder General, Matthew Hopkins. Graham took two metal plates out of it. Considering he was an artist before he turned to crime, my guess is that they were currency plates. Eddie Burbridge must have kept them as insurance or something. Maybe he even meant to start making counterfeit money.”

“Depends how long he’s had them.” Peters opened a leather case of four-inch spikes with wooden handles. “Most paper currency changes design every ten years or so. The chances are it wouldn’t be any good. What are these?”

“Bodkins. The theory was that a witch would have a devil’s mark, an area of skin impervious to pain. The examiner would stab an woman accused of witchcraft all over until they found a spot where she didn’t flinch.”

“And if they didn’t? Find a spot, I mean.”

“The examiner would use this one.” Meinwen pulled another from the trunk. Although it looked identical to the others, she showed how the spike retracted into the handle.”

“Nifty. Then they’d burn her, I suppose.”

“Burning was actually uncommon. Most women accused of witchcraft were hanged, some were boarded, where a board was placed on their chest and piled with rocks until their ribs cracked and they suffocated, and some were simply buried alive.”

Peters shuddered. “God! And we get criticized for having too many people in prisons.”

“The clever thing about finding witches, of course, was that the church and the landowner were allowed to split the witch’s house and land between them. It was big business, often followed by a reward for whoever accused them in the first place.”

Peters lifted another item from the box. A series of leather straps connected to what seemed to be a leather dessert spoon.

“Scold’s bridle. Designed to fit around the head and still the tongue of a nagging wife. There were other kinds made of wood to hold the hands immobile, too.”

“I could do with one of those for Janet.” Peters’s grin faded at Meinwen’s expression. He lifted a third object out. It looked like a metal pear cut into quarters, each piece connected with screw threads.

Meinwen paled. She took it off him and put it back, then closed the lid and locked it. “That’s enough history for now.”

Chapter 42

The hospital was almost deserted now that visiting time was over and the staff had changed to the night shift. St. Pity’s was one of the most modern hospitals in Wiltshire, and Inspector White had a room in one of the privately funded annexes. Even the waiting area was upmarket with a vending machine that dispensed freshly brewed coffee and tea from tiny sachets. Since the machine had no herbal infusions available, Meinwen treated herself to a decaffeinated leaf tea and sipped it slowly, surfing the internet on her mobile phone. Eden had left an hour ago, escorted by a nurse who insisted she’d be no good to her husband without some rest herself.

She looked up as the phone at the nurse’s station rang. The night nurse answered it with nothing more than affirmative ‘mm-hmm’s’ until she looked across at Meinwen. She put her hand over the mouthpiece and called across. “Meinwen Jones?”

“Yes?” Meinwen put her cup on the coffee table, stood and walked across.

“Mr. White will see you now. You’ve only got a few minutes, mind, as it’s long past visiting hours. And don’t you go exciting him. He’s had a nasty concussion.”

“You’ve not met Detective Inspector White yet, have you?” Meinwen smiled sweetly. “I couldn’t imagine him getting excited if he won the lottery.”

“Nevertheless.” The nurse held her gaze for a moment before speaking into the phone again. “She’s on her way in.”

“Thank you.” Meinwen followed the corridor to a room guarded by a uniformed constable. He nodded her inside where the inspector was having his pillows fluffed by Mrs. White. Meinwen had only met Beryl a couple of times but knew enough about her never to get on her bad side.

“Will you stop fussing? I’m fine.” The inspector batted her away. “Look. Here’s Meinwen to witness the torture you’re putting me through.”

Beryl glanced at her and winked. “Yes, and I’ve given her strict instructions not to listen to any of your nonsense.” She gave the sheets a pull to smooth out any remaining wrinkles and leaned forward to peck him on the cheek. “No getting upset, remember. I’ll see you tomorrow after the nurses have given you a bed bath.”

“I’m fine, honestly. They’ll discharge me with a packet of aspirin first thing.”

“We’ll see.” Beryl pulled on her coat and turned to Meinwen. “Don’t let him fill your head with any nonsense about cases. He’s had a nasty blow to the head and needs to rest.”

“Noted,” Meinwen squeezed her arm. “He’ll be fine. The doctors said so.”

“Hmm.” Beryl looked back at her husband. “If only they could have reduced the useless lump on his shoulders.”

“Lump?”

“His head.” Beryl cackled as she pulled the door open.

White leaned forward. “I can still hear, you know.”

Meinwen pulled a chair to the side of the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve gone six rounds with Beryl’s big sister.” White put a hand to his bandages. “What news on the Burbridge front? None of the officers will tell me.”

“How much do you know so far?”

“Only what Peters told me, and I think that was from your witness statement. One dead body and two escaped forgers. There’s a BOLO issued on Graham Browning and Vera Shelton. I have to admit I did not see that coming. I had her down as a harmless old dearie.” He shook his head and winced. “Shows you how wrong you can be sometimes.”

“Don’t blame yourself, Inspector. If I hadn’t been so eager to dig up the witchfinder’s chest I’d have figured it out. The clues were all there. I found a photograph of Eddie Burbridge’s old crew and got so fixated by Malcolm being one of them I completely missed Graham Glover being the same man as Graham Browning.”

“What about the fortune teller? Was she in on it?”

“Michelle Barrett? No. She was taken in by Graham the most. He put of this act of being a little bit dim and fooled everyone. Nobody suspected him of being a forger.”

“And they got away with the plates?”

“Yes.”

“Did anyone see what was on them? What currency?”

Meinwen shrugged. “I’ve no idea. We were all tied up at the time and he was pretty careful about handling them.”

“It’s an interesting puzzle. The plates are years old. What currency hasn’t changed in all that time?”

“I remember the fives and tens reducing in size about ten years ago and the twenties became purple recently.” Meinwen bit her lip. “Fifties?”