Bernard Knight - Where Death Delights

Though Angela was not without a sense of humour, she was already learning to ignore her partner’s frequent whimsies.

‘What about this private detective fellow?’ she asked. ‘I’m always a bit wary of them, I imagine a chap in a dirty raincoat taking snaps of a co-respondent through bedroom windows.’

Pryor grinned, his lean face revealing a good set of white teeth.

‘Don’t forget the brown trilby pulled down over his eyes!’ He took a sip of the hot tea, before continuing. ‘But seriously, this man Mitchell sounds OK. Lethbridge said he was a detective super in the Gloucestershire force until a year or two ago. He was in the Division that covered the Forest of Dean, so he must know a lot about the area across the river.’

‘You’d better have a word with him as well,’ suggested Angela. ‘You never know, perhaps he can pass a bit of work our way, and vice versa,’ she added practically.

As it turned out, the pathologist met Trevor Mitchell very soon, for next morning Pryor rang the solicitor in Lydney, who after a few phone calls, made arrangements for him to see Mitchell that morning and to go on to interview Mrs Oldfield afterwards.

Leaving Angela and Sian to continue stocking the laboratory, he took the Humber up the valley for a short distance, past the hamlet of Llandogo, and across the river bridge. A side road took the heavy black car up a steep lane with sharp bends that climbed the English side of the valley, with superb views in all directions. At the top was the ancient village of St Brievals, which had been the medieval capital of the Forest of Dean and still had a castle to prove it. He stopped outside the Norman church to ask a lady for directions and was sent down a nearby lane to a thatched cottage whose picture should have been on a box of chocolates, even down to the roses around the door. A rap on the panels brought an almost immediate response, being opened by a large man wearing bib-and-brace brown overalls, looking like a carpenter or a plumber.

He held out his hand and pumped Richard’s vigorously.

‘Come in, Doctor, come in! Excuse the rig-out, but I’ve just come in from my workshop.’

As he led the way into a low living room, with blackened beams in the ceiling, Pryor saw that Mitchell was a powerful man just past fifty, with a thickset body and cropped iron-grey hair. His face reminded Richard of a bulldog, the Churchillian features looking as if they had been crushed from above downwards.

Mitchell piloted the doctor to a deep armchair, covered in flowery chintz like the rest of the three-piece suite. The room was like a film set of an English country cottage, with half-panelled walls, a large stone fireplace and numerous pictures of rural scenes. It even had a glass case containing a stuffed otter sitting on a dresser filled with blue and white china.

‘You’ll have some coffee, Doctor?’ asked the investigator, in a tone that seemed to rule out any refusal. He went to a door at the back and in a deep bass voice roared out instructions to someone in the nether regions.

Then he came back and dropped heavily on to a settee opposite.

‘I understand that old Eddie Lethbridge put you on to this,’ he began. ‘A dry old stick, but he’s sound enough, not like some of these slick lawyers in the city.’

Pryor nodded. ‘So far, there doesn’t seem much to go on. I hope this lady isn’t wasting her money on a wild goose chase.’

Trevor Mitchell grinned, his stern face lighting up for a moment. ‘She’s not short of a few bob, is Agnes – though she’s keen to add a lot more to it from her nephew’s money. I’ve benefited from making a couple of similar goose chases for her in the last couple of years.’

‘D’you think there’s anything in this one?’

Mitchell shrugged his wide shoulders, from which his head seemed to rise without any neck.

‘No reason why it shouldn’t be. This Anthony fellow did just vanish over three years ago, so he has to be somewhere!’

‘But this Mrs Barnes seems to have it sewn up, with this ring and the watch.’

The former detective pursed his lips. ‘It’s only her word that says they belonged to him. There’s no corroboration from anyone else, she’s got no one to confirm it.’

They were interrupted by the kitchen door opening and a small lady entered carrying a tray. She was a wisp of a woman, with fair hair coiled in a roll around her head. Wearing a floral pinafore that almost matched the loose covers of the furniture, she gave Richard a smile from her elfin face as she set down the tray of coffee and biscuits on a small table between the two men.

‘This is my good wife, Doctor!’ announced Trevor. ‘Mary, this is the professor from Singapore we’ve been hearing about. Come to live in Garth House, down in the valley.’

‘I hope you’ll be very happy there, Professor,’ said Mary Mitchell. ‘I knew your aunt slightly, she sometimes used to come up here to church whist drives.’

With another smile, she went back to her kitchen, leaving her husband to hand a plate of Crawfords Rich Tea biscuits to his visitor.

‘So do I call you “Doctor” or “Professor”?’ he demanded.

‘“Doctor” will do, thanks,’ answered Pryor. ‘I held a university chair for a short time, but that was a long way from here. It always seems daft for men to hang on to their military rank long after they’ve packed it in. I suppose I could equally call myself “Major”, but it would sound silly.’

After a biscuit and a few sips, they got down to business.

‘I’m going to see Mrs Oldfield after I leave here,’ said Pryor. ‘Anything I should know before I meet her?’

‘Bit of an old snob, is Agnes,’ confided Mitchell. ‘She’s not seventy yet, but seems older, a real hangover from Edwardian days. Speaks her mind, and damn the consequences!’

‘So why does she think these remains are those of her nephew, this Anthony chap?’

Mitchell grinned again, which lightened his forbidding features. ‘She thinks every set of bones found within fifty miles of here must be his! This is the third time I’ve gone poking into other deaths – but they had cast-iron identities. At least this one is a bit more open to doubt.’

He drank down his coffee and replaced the cup in its saucer.

‘Anthony had plenty of money, as he and his father ran a factory in Swindon during the war, making some bits for aircraft. His parents died some years ago, but he didn’t need to work again, so he enjoyed himself.’

‘How old was he, then?’ asked Richard, taking another biscuit.

‘Forty-five when last seen three years ago. He used to do a lot of hill walking in the Black Mountains and the Brecon Beacons – he was keen on fishing as well. He lived in a private hotel in Cheltenham, but latterly came to stay with his aunt, to be nearer the hills, she said. Apparently, he was also dotty about archaeology, and used to visit ancient places both here and abroad.’

‘And you didn’t find any trace of him from the time he vanished?’

Mitchell shook his head. ‘He wasn’t classed as a missing person for a long time after that. He used to just push off whenever he felt like it without telling anyone, as he had no other relatives. It was only when she hadn’t heard a word from him for over a year that she began to wonder if he was dead. That’s when she hired me, but what could I do?’

‘So he could be living in Nepal or camping in the Mexican jungle?’ said Richard.

‘It’s possible, but Mrs Oldfield won’t have it! She reckons he’s dead, but until it’s proved or he stays missing for seven years, she can’t collect. He intended leaving everything to her, according to Agnes – and the solicitor confirmed it to me.’

Richard took another biscuit and opened the file that the lawyer had given him the previous day.