On Track for Murder Page 21

  “If you say so.”

  “Mister Hurley. You are in serious trouble. This is a murder enquiry and you are heavily implicated. The evidence points to your being responsible for the death of Prentice Sleath, and being complicit in the murder of Albert Sergeant. What do you have to say to that?”

  Thomas drummed the table. “The evidence is wrong.”

  “Mister Hurley. It will go well with you to cooperate. If you can tell us who directed you in these matters you may receive a sentence other than execution. I assume you would prefer that?”

  Thomas stared past both inquisitors, his eyes fixed on the exit door. Eventually he returned his look to Dunning. “The fire. That is where you say Sleath died?”

  “That is correct.”

  “Larkin. Stanley Larkin. He was responsible for that. He threatened to kill us both if we didn’t set the fire.”

  “I understand your original intent was to burn the luggage, but why did Larkin want myself and Prentice Sleath dead?”

  “He said Sleath had double crossed him.”

  Dunning scribbled in his notepad. “How so?”

  “Larkin said he had hired Sleath to find you.” He stared at Abigail. “But you started to spend time with that copper. He reckoned Sleath had made some sort of deal with the police. Double crossed him. Said Sleath deserved to be taken out.” He took his attention to Dunning. “We thought we were just restraining you so we could make our getaway.”

  “So what happened?”

  “When Larkin saw our hideout had been destroyed he was furious. Said he knew of someone else who could hide the girl but we had to get her there. He insisted that we go back and ‘tie up loose ends’, as he put it.”

  “And what did that involve?”

  “Setting the fire.”

  “So, before that did Sleath tell you why he needed the luggage burned?”

  “No. He said it was something that he didn’t want the family to see and this was the best way of getting rid of it.”

  Abigail shifted forward in her seat. “What was it? Why was he hiding something from us?”

  “I don’t even know it was your family.”

  “But it was Frances’ case. Wouldn’t that be a give-away?”

  “Just ‘cos Sleath wrote her name on it, doesn’t mean it was hers.” He had a point.

  Dunning paused his note writing and stared at Hurley. “So, Mister Hurley. It is your claim that Prentice Sleath hired you to steal a trunk and make it appear like a proper robbery. Then burn it.”

  “Yes.

  “But Stanley Larkin sought you out to work for him, offering more money?”

  “Correct.”

  “And Larkin told you to murder Prentice Sleath and myself?”

  “Yes … no … I mean, he told us to set the fire.”

  “And you didn’t think that would result in us being killed?” Dunning looked askance at Thomas.

  “He said it was you or us. He actually lit the fire.”

  “So, you are saying it was Larkin and not yourself?”

  “Um … Larkin put flame to the broken paraffin bottles.”

  “But you did nothing to stop him? What were you doing while this was going on?”

  “Um … I was checking the—”

  Dunning puffed out his chest. “You forget, Mister Hurley. I was there. You were checking the bonds, were you not? While Eugene Burge lit the fire, not Larkin?”

  Thomas pursed his lips and sat back in his chair, his arms folded across his chest. They had reached his limit.

  “That was most enlightening,” Dunning said. “Thank you for your honesty. I’m not sure it is enough to keep you from the hangman, though. Perhaps you will think about it further as you wait in your cell?”

  “What do you mean?” Hurley’s eyes grew wider. “We just did as we were told.”

  “I’m afraid that is not a defence against murder, Mr Hurley.”

  “But you said …”

  Dunning rose to his feet. “I said you may secure a reduced sentence if you have information about the person behind Albert’s death. I believe Sleath was working for someone else … if indeed he even committed that particular murder.”

  “Maybe it was Larkin.” Hurley seemed genuinely unsure.

  “Maybe it was, Mr Hurley. Maybe it was.” Dunning moved to the door.

  Abigail joined Dunning outside the room. “What do you think?”

  Dunning leaned on the wall, tiredness quickly catching up. “He isn’t telling the truth. It seems they have been frightened by someone much more ruthless.”

  “Who do you think it was? Stanley Larkin? Prentice Sleath? Or maybe someone else?”

  Dunning reached out and held Abigail’s hand. “I’m not sure. It is looking like Sleath was up to no good and that Larkin found out. I would like to know whether Frances Sergeant knew anything.”

  Abigail paused. “Do you think she did?”

  “It’s possible. She has motive. You see, it confuses me as to why Sleath would want Albert dead. He doesn’t seem to have anything to gain. Did you sense any tension between the two men?”

  “From what I saw, no. However, if Father found out about Sleath and Frances being lovers he may have confronted him.”

  Dunning turned to look at Abigail. “You said they were amicable at dinner the night before Albert’s death. Were they alone after that?”

  “No. Sleath left before I retired. The next thing I saw was when he jumped into Frances’ buggy.”

  “But we now know that he didn’t board the train with Frances. He stayed behind for an extra day.”

  “That doesn’t explain the trunk and how that got down to Albany a day later. Unless there was someone else?”

  Dunning turned and offered his arm. “I’m tired. Shall we engage in an early dinner and then off to bed? It’s Monday tomorrow and there is lots to do?”

  As they were about to cross the street outside the police station, Abigail glanced out to the bay. “Look,” she said, pointing.

  “The Peary,” Dunning replied. “It’s leaving. There goes our best witness.” The ship steamed across the bay. Within an hour she would be lost to sight. As the setting sun glinted off the funnel, it imparted the stream of trailing smoke with an eerie glow.

  “Do you think Robinson will be able to hold off Bertie’s trial until Frances returns?” Abigail gripped Dunning’s arm.

  “Possibly. We’ll see what he has to say on the matter in the morning.” They walked slowly down to the inn, gazing out at the receding steam ship as it rounded the heads and headed for open sea.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Breakfast was eaten late the following morning. Both Abigail and Ridley had slept longer than expected; partly due to the overcast sky holding back the morning’s light, and partly due to sheer exhaustion. The new day brought the small town of Albany to life. People swarmed across the street, going about their business oblivious to the angst gripping Abigail. Crossing the road grew all the more hazardous as cart after cart headed for the docks. A new vessel was due to arrive from the east coast settlements that morning and the local traders were eager to secure their incoming produce.

  Over breakfast a plan for the morning had been agreed. Robinson had sent word that they should meet him as soon as possible. The solicitor's office became their primary focus. Dunning had gathered together all the discovered documents. Along with his notebook, they were jammed into a leather satchel he had borrowed from the police sergeant.

  Arriving at the solicitor’s office, neither knew quite what to expect.

  “Please, do sit down. May I offer you a cup of tea?” Robinson was more jovial this morning.

  “No, thank you,” both Abigail and Dunning spoke in unison. They exchanged a knowing look before Abigail continued.

  “Mr Robinson. We’ve brought all the information we have gathered so far. Would this be a good time to go over it with you?”

  “My dear,” Robinson said. “If I may be permitted to discuss the
terms of your father’s will first, I would be only too pleased to go over the details of the case against Bertrand with you after that. Does that meet with your approval?”

  “Certainly. Although I feel Father may have been deceived before he died.”

  Robinson glanced at Dunning. “Would you like the constable to leave us?” he said, turning to Abigail.

  “No, please may he stay. I want him to hear this.” Abigail couldn’t face bad news alone. Her strength was being sorely tested and Dunning provided a shoulder to lean on.

  “Certainly, Miss Sergeant. Anything you wish.”

  Abigail smiled and took hold of Dunning’s hand. They sat in anticipation of a will bequeathing most of Albert’s meagre possessions to Frances.

  “Now,” Robinson said. “Before I begin, two months ago Albert drew up a binding fiat. It describes a course of action to be taken should certain events occur after his death. This is a legal decree. It is quite detailed but is easily interpreted. Essentially, your father drew up two wills. One he filed at his home in Perth, the other was to be kept separately at my home here in Albany. He specifically stated that this second will be kept away from my offices. He notes that he had become suspicious of Frances’ motives and was certain that she was carrying on a love affair with someone else.”

  “That would be Prentice Sleath,” Abigail cut in.

  Robinson flicked back through his notes. “Is he the man you mentioned before? The one who worked on the railway?”

  “Yes, that’s the man.” Abigail replied. “He was the one I witnessed getting into Frances’ buggy the night she left.”

  “Well, it seems Albert had strong suspicions of an affair, even if he didn’t know who was involved.” Robinson continued reading. “As I said, your father drew up two wills. The one kept in his files in Perth left all of the assets to Frances, with you receiving a modest sum. It also left provision for Bertrand to be cared for.”

  Abigail squeezed Dunning’s hand. “He was good to me.”

  Robinson looked down at the document and read on. “However, your father suspected Frances of conspiring to misuse his wealth; something about funding an odd religious sect. So he set up this rather elaborate framework. To the will stored at his home in Perth he added a note. This note stated that he had lodged a sealed codicil with me here in Albany. It hinted that this codicil transferred substantial assets to you, Miss Sergeant. He stated it was only to be opened at the reading of the will.”

  Abigail looked confused. “So, Father left a will leaving everything to Frances?”

  “In appearance, yes.”

  “But a sealed document altering it was lodged with you?”

  “That is correct.”

  “So, you now need to open that sealed document.” Abigail felt she understood.

  “No.” Robinson smiled knowingly.

  “Pardon?” Abigail pulled Dunning's hand to her lap and squeezed even harder.

  “As I was saying, miss. Your father left two wills, a codicil … and this fiat. I was to keep the second will and the fiat statement away from my office. In the event that the codicil was stolen, the second will was to be enacted.”

  Abigail shuffled in her seat. “Now I am really confused.”

  “Your father understood that Frances may attempt to steal the codicil, thus removing any claim you had over his estate. Without anything to alter it, the original will would stand.”

  Abigail nodded. She was beginning to see what Father had done. “And may I assume that the break-in you suffered was to steal that codicil?”

  “You may, and you would be correct in doing so. Now, given the events that have unfolded, I must defer to the second will.”

  “The one that Father had you secure away from your office?”

  “That is correct. Nobody knew it existed, other than Albert and myself.”

  Dunning couldn’t resist a comment. “Cunning man, your father.”

  “Indeed, constable.” Robinson pulled the focus back. “So, your father’s true last will and testament reads thusly: He leaves all his possessions, assets and property to you.” He bowed towards Abigail. “There is to be a trust set up to provide for Bertrand’s needs and offer him a secure home for his entire life. I have been asked to facilitate that.”

  “So, Father has left the house to me?”

  “It was suggested that the house in Perth, along with funds to hire a housekeeper and tutor, be set aside for Bertrand.”

  “Oh,” Abigail sounded disappointed.

  “But the bulk of your father’s estate is here in Albany.”

  Abigail gasped. “Pardon?”

  “He owns a large estate on the eastern side of town. Around one-hundred acres of land bordering the Kalgan River, with a significant home, stable block and two large barns.”

  Abigail’s eyes grew wider with every word. “I didn’t know.”

  “Further to that, there is a substantial share portfolio. Your father wanted to make particular mention of a fifty-one percent shareholding in an engineering business in Perth. He says you may like to take some personal interest in that.”

  “Engineering?” Abigail’s eyes lit up.

  “The company provides the railway with equipment and also invests in research to further improvements. It is a significant asset.”

  Abigail couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her mouth hung open as she sat, speechless.

  Dunning leaned forward to speak. “So, Abigail … Miss Sergeant … inherits everything? Will not Frances have a claim on it when she returns?”

  “According to law, she engaged in the very act that Albert Sergeant was protecting the family against. It would be a brave judge to overturn such definite instructions.”

  Dunning looked at Abigail and smiled. She remained still, stunned.

  Tea and biscuits were served to calm down the shocked Abigail. A second cup saw her return to reality. She quickly began asking questions about financial income and commitments. She heard that the estate of Albert Sergeant was in exceptionally good shape. Homes fully paid for and up to date with all taxes, businesses thriving and predicting great futures.

  As Abigail consumed the last of the chocolate covered biscuits, Robinson spoke up. “My dear, Miss Sergeant. I do hope you will consider allowing me to continue to represent you and your interests.” He wore a proud expression. “I believe I served your father well in all matters. Apart from the trust for Bertrand, he has not specified my continued involvement. It will be wholly up to you.”

  Abigail looked up, mouth barely free of biscuit. “Oh, Mr Robinson, how could I consider changing. You have brought me such amazing news and fulfilled Father’s wishes to the letter.”

  Robinson beamed.

  Abigail continued. “What’s more, you are still willing to help us argue the case for Bertie, are you not?”

  “I most certainly am, miss.”

  Dunning piped up. “I believe this is where I may be of assistance.” He emptied the satchel’s contents onto Robinson’s desk. “We have gathered a considerable assortment of evidence. These are the interview notes.” He handed his notebook to Robinson. “I’m not really sure what it is you require to defend a case. Is this of use?”

  Robinson scanned the journal. “These people are able to testify in person?”

  “Well.” Dunning began chewing his pencil again. “Prentice Sleath is dead. And Frances Sergeant, who would be our best witness, has left the country. She says you have her address in New Zealand?”

  “She did come to see me and left an address. Her sister’s home … in Auckland.”

  Dunning continued. “We have Thomas Hurley and Eugene Burge in custody. They are to be tried for the murder of Prentice Sleath.”

  “Do you have any hard evidence, either placing Bertrand somewhere else or providing an alternative suspect?”

  Dunning showed Robinson the evidence surrounding Prentice Sleath and his delay leaving Perth. He then mentioned Hurley’s statement about the travel trunks, a
nd Prentice’s love affair with Frances.

  Robinson scratched his chin. “It’s interesting, however purely circumstantial. The prosecution will state any number of reasons Mr Sleath may have remained in Perth, other than to murder Albert. They will also attempt to show lack of motive. Now, in my opinion, the love affair provided motive. With Albert out of the way, Frances stood to gain everything. If Frances intended to take up with Sleath, there is motive.”

  Abigail finally spoke up. “So, we need evidence to show that Prentice Sleath intended to marry Frances?”

  “Well,” Robinson said. “If they were to marry, Sleath would assume ownership of all Frances’ assets … as her husband. Do you really think Frances would allow that? She didn’t seem that sort of person to me.”

  Abigail nodded. “I agree.”

  “So,” Robinson continued. “I would be thinking motive before anything else. Prove motive then look to means. Having the opportunity to commit the murder is the final piece of the puzzle that will convict someone. Proving an absence of these will overturn a conviction, such as with Bertrand. However, in his case, he was there and was found holding the murder weapon. Without any solid evidence to prove someone else committed the crime, I’m afraid the case will be difficult to argue.”

  Abigail’s mouth turned down. “So, you’re saying that Bertie could be found guilty of this?”

  “Not if you can prove that someone else did. Is there anything you have overlooked? Affidavits from the railway staff concerning travel times would help. What about neighbours? Have the Perth police found any witnesses?”

  Dunning spoke up. “I’ve spoken to them, but the detective in charge is convinced of Bertrand’s guilt. He’s putting in little effort. He’s also miffed that you have managed to delay his progress towards a conviction.”

  Robinson scowled. “Well, how about that missing luggage. Is anything remaining after the fire?”

  Abigail shot a look to Dunning. The luggage had been completely ignored. Not only could there be remains to sift through but they had removed the topmost trunk to a safe spot away from the shed.