On Track for Murder Page 24

  As Abigail managed a second strike on Frances’ damaged knee, the banging suddenly stopped. The door then shuddered as the might of a strong body hit it from the corridor. Again it shuddered. On the third attempt the door finally burst open. The dim light from the hallway threw an orange glow around the room.

  Abigail noticed, at once, the shape of a uniformed Frances rising and hobbling towards the open french doors. The figure in the doorway moved quickly, negotiating the upturned table too late to prevent Frances’ escape to the balcony. Almost tripping over the discarded drawer, the pursuer skipped around the small arm-chair before dashing onto the balcony. Abigail had made it to her feet and started across the room. Through the open doors she spied Frances, with one leg over the balustrade, lean forward and swing the second across. Hands gripping the rail tightly, Frances lowered herself down so that her head was level with the handrail.

  With moments to spare, just as the pursuer reached out to grab hold, Frances dropped. The yell as she reached the ground echoed around the street. Gasps could be heard from guests below as Abigail’s saviour dashed past her and headed downstairs. Leaning over the balcony, Abigail gasped as she spotted Frances laying in the street, her leg twisted unnaturally sideways. Three women had joined the manager to stare at Frances, unsure what to do with a woman dressed in a Swan Colony police uniform laying hurt in the street.

  Within seconds, Ridley Dunning burst from the front door, handcuffs at the ready. Abigail grinned widely as she saw him kneel down beside Frances, placing the cuffs over her wrists. Abigail had no idea where he had been. All that mattered was that he was safe.

  Abigail leaned further over the balcony as Dunning lifted the dazed Frances to a sitting position. She watched intently as Frances blinked away the shock of the fall and stared into Dunning’s eyes.

  “Oh, Ridley,” Frances called out, rather more loudly than necessary. “You’re here to rescue me. That awful Abigail attacked me” More gasps from the assembled crowd.

  “No!” Abigail called, turning to race downstairs. “That is not true … no, no, no,” she called to the empty corridor as she ran. Within seconds Abigail burst out onto the street, pushing past the audience to get to Dunning.

  “There she is,” Frances called, pointing a rather scratched finger at Abigail. “She needs to be locked up. She’s dangerous.”

  “Ridley, no,” Abigail cried, falling to her knees beside Dunning. “You can’t believe her.”

  Frances grinned and continued. “Ridley, once she is locked up we can finally be together. You must escape quickly to avoid being arrested for Albert’s murder.” More gasps from the crowd. “Ridley, they are on to you. You must escape. Run, Ridley. Run, now … you must get away. Leave me, I will be all right. After all, I have nothing to hide. You are the one who killed Albert.”

  Mutters ran through the assembled crowd. They were confused and didn’t know what to make of this altercation. The innkeeper reached in and took hold of Dunning’s arm. “I think you should remain here, sir.”

  Abigail thumped the manager’s back. “No, he is innocent. It is Frances who is the murderer.” The action had little effect.

  Frances went to stand but winced in pain and fell back to the road. The innkeeper turned to her. “You’ll be staying here too, misses.” He lifted his head and bellowed. “I need everyone to remain here until the constable arrives. No exceptions.” More mutters from the crowd. One rather assertive woman called out that they ought to receive free cups of tea if they were to be forced to stay. The innkeeper agreed. He hustled all the witnesses into the sitting room out of the cold and ordered refreshments be brought out.

  Dunning was pressed into carrying Frances. He placed her on a chaise longue then pulled up a wing backed chair and sat, staring at her. The innkeeper stood over him. Abigail sat alongside on the chair’s matching partner, exhausted.

  “So,” Dunning stared at Frances. “May I ask what you think you are doing? And why you are wearing my uniform?”

  Frances smiled. “I am trying to help you escape, my darling,” she said, loudly.

  Abigail leaned forward and spoke into Dunning’s ear. “She tried to kill me. Stab me with a knife. It will still be up in my room.”

  Dunning turned back to Frances. “Is this true?” Frances maintained her grin.

  Abigail continued. “She tried to make it seem as though you murdered me.” She shuddered. “Your uniform would have ended up covered in my blood.”

  The innkeeper dispatched a junior waiter to fetch the police. “Bring them here immediately,” he said, as the smartly suited lad turned to leave. “And be quick about it. I can’t afford for this disruption to continue all night.”

  “If you would just listen to me,” Abigail said, standing directly in front of the innkeeper. “I can tell you all about it.”

  “I don’t need to know.” The reply was curt. “Save it for Sergeant Graves. He will sort it out.”

  “Don’t you see,” Abigail continued the protest. “This is Constable Dunning … from the Swan River Constabulary. He has been chasing this woman. She is wanted for the murder of my father.”

  The innkeeper stood his ground. “That is as maybe, miss, but it is not my position to make decisions about such things. The sergeant will know what to do.”

  Abigail sat back down and sighed. It was a waste of time trying to sway him. At least she was safe, and Frances was going nowhere.

  Abigail turned to Dunning. “I’m sorry this has happened.”

  “You have nothing to apologise for,” he replied. “It is I who ought to be apologising. Had I not been so naive I would have seen through the ploy in a moment. It is my foolishness that put your life at risk.”

  “But you returned.” Abigail reached out and took his hand. “Imagine what may have transpired if you had been on the boat with the other constables.”

  Frances’ head jerked around as she spied the hand holding. “What are you doing?” she bellowed at Dunning. “Don’t try to get out of this by befriending her. You and I were to spend our lives together. Or was that just a lie to get you away from the murder scene? Am I merely an alibi for you?” She pulled herself up in the seat. “Ridley, why didn’t you just get on the steam ship with me like we planned?”

  Abigail released Dunning’s hand and stood, looming over Frances as menacingly as she could. “You are quite something,” she began. “All your talk of defending true christian principles. How does all this fit with your so called faith?”

  “Don’t bring my faith into this,” Frances glared back. “None of this would be happening if it weren’t for you and that brother of yours.” She looked around furtively before lowering her voice to continue. “I have seen the true light. I follow the true faith. I will be absolved of any wrongdoing. You, though, will not. Your sin is unforgivable; rejecting God can only lead you to hell. That is where you are going, my dear.” Frances’ grin widened as she turned away.

  “Leave her to her delusions,” Dunning said, gently pulling Abigail back to her seat. “It’s not worth upsetting yourself. Now tell me, what actually did happen up there in your room?”

  Abigail related the story moment by moment. At the point where Ridley arrived, she stopped. “So, my darling. Why was it that you returned when you did? Frances said you had been summoned to a location several hours away.”

  “I had.” Dunning pulled his chair closer. “I wanted my uniform, so went to the washer woman to retrieve it. When she told me a lady had picked it up, I assumed it was you. I decided to continue on my way in civilian clothes. It wasn’t until I reached the top of the first hill that I reconsidered my decision. I questioned why you would pick up my uniform when you believed I was retrieving it on my way to the boat. I realised I had likely been duped.”

  “Frances told me that she planted evidence implicating you in Father’s murder.”

  “How did she accomplish that?”

  “I don’t know how but she says she left a declaration of marriage, ta
ken out by you, in consideration of you and her.”

  “A what?”

  “You know, it states an intention to marry. It’s an official document.”

  “When was I supposed to have done that?”

  “I have no idea but she seemed fairly confident of it working. You would have been charged with Father’s murder as well as with mine.” Abigail paused, a look of utter exhaustion across her face. “I think Frances must have an accomplice in Perth.” She lifted her hand to her mouth and stifled a yawn.

  Dunning reached across and gently stroked an errant lock of hair from Abigail’s forehead. “It may be some time before any officers arrive. Try to rest, my darling. You are tired.”

  At that moment, a tray of hot tea and biscuits was passed to Abigail. The distraction was received with a nod and a smile.

  Abigail reclined in an armchair beside the window. The tea tasted wonderful and the biscuits quickly vanished. Finally relaxing, she fell fast asleep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Abigail was woken by the boy, Smith, loudly announcing the return of the police boat. Sergeant Graves was next on the scene, scratching his head as his look moved across the assembled group. Finally, his glare settled on Ridley. “Constable Dunning,” he barked. “I am not impressed that you failed to inform us of your movements.” He looked down at Abigail. “It could have cost this girl her life.”

  Dunning stood. “I’m sorry, sergeant. Although it is fortunate I was here. Were I not, she would certainly have been killed.”

  “No, she would not,” Frances cut in. “It was Constable Dunning who was intent on her murder. If he had been aboard that boat none of this would have happened.”

  “That’s utter nonsense.” Abigail moved to confront Graves. “Frances here is solely responsible. She planned to make it look like Constable Dunning killed me. That is why she wore his uniform. It was Frances who wrote the note that the boy delivered. It was she who deceived Constable Dunning into chasing that spurious lead. To get him out of the way.”

  “That’s a lie,” Frances called out.

  Abigail turned to her. “So why are you still wearing his uniform? Well?”

  Frances shot a look down to her attire. Her eyes widened as her grin subsided. She turned away, her mouth set in a hard scowl.

  “I think we should take this to the station house,” Sergeant Graves stated. He turned as Constable Parbery entered the room. “Constable, would you please carry Mrs Sergeant back to the police station and set her up in the rear interview room.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Graves turned to Ridley. “Constable Dunning, would you please accompany Miss Sergeant back to the station. And don’t get sidetracked.”

  “Yes, sir.” Dunning reached for Abigail’s hand.

  “Wait just a minute,” the innkeeper piped up. He pointed at Frances. “This woman took a room here at the inn. It’s full of her possessions. If you are taking her away I will require payment, or the room back.”

  Abigail caught Ridley’s eye. “We ought to search that room,” she said. “There may be evidence.”

  “I will arrange that,” Graves replied. “You just head for the station house. I’ll see to it that the appropriate steps are taken here.”

  Half an hour later Abigail sat in the familiar room she had occupied on her first visit to the Albany police station. Tea was supplied, along with a rather welcome current bun, heavily buttered. She could only assume that Frances was being interrogated in a separate room, while Ridley answered questions in another.

  As a second cup of tea was placed before her, Sergeant Graves entered the room. “Miss Sergeant, may I apologise for the delay in my getting to you. We have turned up some interesting documents in your step-mother’s things. They prove to be quite incriminating.”

  Abigail’s mouth dropped open. “You found documents? What sort of documents? What have you found?”

  “Letters,” he replied. “They relate to a radical sect that Mrs Sergeant was associated with. It seems their leader, one William Jacobson, is actually married to Frances. He operates a commune. Frances’ sister is involved as well.”

  Abigail stared. “Married? Frances is married? How can that be? She was married to my father.”

  “I’m afraid bigamy is a common occurrence, my dear,” Graves wore a stern look. “The letters reveal that Frances was married to Jacobson five years before meeting your father.”

  Abigail maintained her stunned stare. “Five years before? So, why would she want to marry Father?”

  Graves seated himself opposite Abigail. “It seems to have been a conspiracy to defraud your father of his fortune. One of the letters hints that a similar arrangement was being planned for Frances’ sister. They appear to be running some sort of ongoing scam.”

  “But?” Abigail was lost for words.

  Graves continued. “They profess to be a religious organisation. It appears to be the best way of recruiting young women.”

  Abigail finally regained her voice. “So, all her ranting about me being a witch was an act?”

  “I think they genuinely believe their doctrine. William Jacobson is quite well known for his radical religious teachings.”

  Abigail sat bolt upright. “And murder? Is that part of their teachings?”

  Graves slowly shook his head. “I’m afraid it is. Jacobson has written in his books about sacrificing the unholy so that their wealth can be redistributed. He means purloined, I’m sure.”

  Abigail was again, lost for words.

  Graves rubbed his neck. “He even describes how to accomplish it. The practice of securing a watertight alibi and concocting evidence so that someone else is implicated.” Graves sighed. “This sect … they are extremely dangerous. We have been informed of whole families being killed.”

  Abigail stared at her bruised hands, then looked up. “Sergeant … may I see the letters?”

  “They are extremely valuable evidence but I see no reason why not. Providing you allow a constable to be present. We can’t have evidence going missing, now, can we?”

  Abigail agreed. She had barely emptied her cup when Graves returned.

  “Here you go,” he said, handing a small stack of paper over. “If you don’t mind, I will stay. I have a few more questions to ask.”

  “Not at all,” Abigail replied. She opened the first letter. It was dated around the time Frances and Albert met. Jacobson was commending Frances on managing to win Albert’s heart. He was delighted that marriage was being suggested. It went on to detail the fortune held by Albert in various shareholdings and property deals. Abigail found it hard to see her family described in such a cold manner.

  Turning to the next letter, Abigail read Jacobson’s displeasure over the presence of Abigail and Bertrand in their Manchester home. Reading his suggestion that the couple move to the colonies and leave the children behind caused Abigail to pause and take a deep breath.

  Graves noticed the angst. “Are you all right, miss?” he said quietly.

  “Oh, I have just read about the plans to move to Australia. It was all part of the deception. Every bit of it. My father’s entire life, being manipulated by evil people.” She fought back a tear. “Poor Father. I hope he never found out.”

  “Do you want to keep reading?”

  Abigail assented and read on. A third letter was penned after Abigail and Bertrand had organised to travel to Perth. It stated that the children needed to be kept under control. Frances was to report back if she found it too difficult to subdue them. That explains her bitchy attitude.

  A final letter became too much for Abigail to take. Tears streamed down her face as she read. It contained suggestions for killing Albert and disinheriting the children. Abigail set the unfinished letter down. “It was her.” Abigail’s eyes reddened. “It was Frances all along. She killed Father.”

  “Are you done with the letters, Miss Sergeant?” Graves held out his hand to retrieve the conclusive evidence.

  “Yes, yes
… I’ve read enough.” She sniffed and was handed a folded handkerchief. “I can’t believe what I am seeing. It really is quite disturbing.”

  “That it is, miss.”

  Abigail straightened in her seat and fought away the tears. She couldn’t allow this to upset her. She looked up. “So, sergeant. Do you now believe that Constable Dunning is innocent?”

  “My dear, I believed that all along. I simply needed to follow proper procedure. I will have Frances Sergeant transported to Perth. I think it prudent that Constable Dunning and yourself travel as soon as possible. I believe Mr Robinson desires to travel with you?”

  “Yes, he does … oh bother.” Abigail banged the table. “I forgot about the travel trunk that we removed before the fire. It might contain further evidence. Robinson asked us to retrieve it.”

  “Don’t you worry, miss.” Graves smiled as he secured the letters in a large leather satchel. “I will send some men to recover the trunk. We will have it here shortly.”

  Abigail thanked the sergeant and sank back in her chair.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  A gentle hand on her shoulder woke Abigail from her sleep. Looking up, she was delighted to see Ridley standing over her. He smiled and blew her a kiss before pulling up a chair and nestling in side her.

  “Are you in trouble?” Abigail asked.

  “Not at all,” he replied, taking her hand and squeezing it tightly. “Sergeant Graves is comfortable that the evidence he retrieved from Frances’ room makes a lie of her claims.”