Someone’s goose is cooked.
The Butcher of Wellesley
Written by Don Blinebry | Noir and Nonsense Originals
Synopsis
When a butcher is found murdered in a quiet English village, suspicion falls on nearly everyone.
Drawn into the investigation, American author Jack begins piecing together a web of motives, grudges, and secrets—where nothing is quite as simple as it seems.
I got tired of watching the snow-covered landscape meander past our window and decided ogling my wife would be more pleasant. She sat in the opposite seat engrossed in a Dale’s Department Store catalog, oblivious to the world in general and me in particular. Shopping does that to a woman.
“I’ve come to the conclusion England is larger than it appears on the map.” Vickie had no response to my observation, so I tried another. “Maybe English trains are slower than the ones I’m used to.”
“You’re just bored because you’re brooding, Jack.” She tossed the Harrod’s catalogue onto my lap. “Be a dear and pick out your Christmas present.”
Read Story
I noticed several suitable items had been circled and their pages dog-eared. “I’m not brooding.”
“Yes you are. You’re mourning the loss of wintering in Miami. You’d much rather be hanging out with your friends at Pimlico and ignoring your writing. Don’t give me that look, mister. I can see the palm trees waving in your eyes. You’re probably hearing the pitter-patter of little horsey hooves calling you.”
“You’re mixing your racetracks, dear. It’s Hialeah. The little horsies would freeze their tails off in Maryland this time of year. I thought you liked Miami?”
“Yes, but I miss my old friends and my family. I haven’t seen Mother in three years. Besides, everyone’s dying to meet the man I eloped with. This will be fun.”
That wasn’t the description that came to mind but I didn’t say so. Instead, I said, “Perhaps I should get us a drink. What would you like?”
“Oh, Jack, it’s only nine in the morning. We want to make a good impression on Mother.”
“Alright, just one for me then.” I opened the compartment door only to startle the porter with his hand raised to knock.
“I’m sorry, Mister Misses Hickox, I . . . I . . . .”
“Don’t apologize.” Vickie was in a forgiving mood. “Your timing is perfect. My husband was going to throw himself from the train but, you’ve forced him to reconsider. What can we do in return?”
“Um, Wellesley station in fifteen minutes, Miss. I’ll make sure all your luggage gets put on the platform.” The wide-eyed porter backed down the corridor without ever taking his eyes off me.
“What a shamelessly cruel wife I have. The poor man will spend the rest of the week wondering if you were telling the truth. Of course, with no time for a drink, I might really be suicidal.”
I got a commiserating pat on the shoulder. “I’ll get you one at the house, dear. Can you get my extra bags down?”
At Wellesley station, the platform was crowded. “Christmas shoppers,” Vickie said in answer to my unasked question. By the time we found our baggage cart, a blond-haired brute in a chauffeur’s uniform was mauling the luggage.
“See here, my wife and I have already been through customs.”
He turned a quizzical look in our direction until the glint of recognition washed it away. “You must be Mr. and Mrs. Hickox. I recognize you Miss Victoria. Your mother has pictures of you all over the house, except now your hair is shorter.”
Vickie put her hand to her coif, happy for the attention. “This is the way they’re wearing it in New York this year.”
“Yes, Miss. My name is Hadley. Let me take those two bags.” The chauffer started for the end of the platform and spoke over his shoulder as we followed. “The station man will watch your luggage ‘til I come back for it. Your mother wants me to get you up to the house right away.”
Hadley led the way to a silver Rolls Royce Phantom and held the door. The back seat was large enough to require its own map so it took a moment before I spotted the cabinet. “Is the bar stocked?”
“No sir. Mrs. Chambers doesn’t have liquor in the cars. Maybe it’s me she don’t trust. I only started with her first of the month.”
“Woodhull was always our chauffeur. I don’t remember mother telling me he left. Hadley, what happened to Mr. Woodhull?”
“Gout, Miss, so I’m told. Got so bad he couldn’t take care of the cars. That’s why Mrs. Chambers hired me. You two coming to visit is all anyone has talked about since I started. I guess you live in America now?”
“I do. I was born there. She was imported from….”
Vickie elbowed her disapproval and finished my sentence. “I went to school in America. This is my first time home since I graduated.”
“Well, they’ve got a right proper greeting planned for you, Miss.”
~~
What appeared to be the entire staff waited in the courtyard for our arrival. Vickie was mobbed. I was gaped at, pawed, prodded and introduced, and not always in that order. Hadley abandoned us to our fate.
The coterie surrounding my wife consisted mostly of middle-aged women and a sprinkling of younger ones. The cackle of questions and answers and announcements became an impenetrable din. I shook hands and repeated names at each introduction, but doubted I would recall a single one.
Through it all, an older man in formal attire stood near the door with his hands folded in front of him. I made my way in his direction. “This is quite the welcoming committee.” I jerked a thumb over my shoulder to indicate Vickie’s admirers.
“Miss Victoria has been absent far too long.” Without changing his posture, he added, “We’ve all missed her.”
“I’m Jack Hickox.” I thrust a hand in his direction. “And you are?”
“Jefferies.” My wife’s shrill voice answered my question. She strode up the sidewalk, arms extended. That got some movement out of the old boy as he returned her embrace.
“You look lovelier every day, Miss Victoria.” The beginnings of a smile cracked Jefferies’ stoic exterior.
“You’ve been saying that since I was a child. Jack, this is Jefferies, our butler. Did you two meet?”
“Very nearly.”
“Perhaps we should go inside, Miss Victoria.” Jefferies took my wife’s arm and led her into the foyer. “Otherwise, they’ll stand out here and catch their death. Let me take your coats. I’m told you’ll be staying through the New Year.”
“Yes. Mother insisted.”
“Well, everyone will be glad to see this year gone. They say 1937 will be better.”
“I didn’t see Mrs. Hobbs.” Vickie fumbled with a pin holding her hat.
“Mrs. Hobbs is at the butcher ordering another goose.” Jefferies handed our coats to one of the maids. “Your mother has invited more people for Christmas dinner.”
“And where is Mother?”
“She will be down for breakfast shortly. She wanted the staff to greet you first for fear she’d never have a moment with you. Will you be having breakfast?”
“Thank you, Jefferies, we ate on the train. Just coffee for me. Would you like something, Jack?”
“A martini.”
Jefferies looked appalled. “Vodka and gin are vulgar spirits, sir. We’ve never had them in this house. I could bring you a glass of brandy if you insist.”
“Then I suppose brandy will have to do.”
~~
The mother knew how to make an entrance. “Victoria, darling, how dare you break a mother’s heart?” Agatha Chambers was everything Vickie had warned me she would be. At scarcely a hundred pounds, she dominated the room.
“Mother, you look wonderful.” Vickie’s shrillness was back. Between the compliments and admonishments, neither stopped talking, but it gave me the chance to see them side by side.
Vickie was a head taller, with jet-black hair and translucent green eyes. The mother had the kind of blondeness that’s only found in a bottle and her eyes, while the same color, held none of the softness. She reminded me of those cat statues they find in Egyptian tombs.
They shared the slender frame and graceful athleticism that comes from heredity or years of walking around with a book on your head. At some point, Jefferies brought my brandy. I was taking a drink when Vickie and her mother crossed the room.
“Mother, this is Jack. Didn’t I tell you he was cute?”
“Mrs. Chambers, a pleasure to meet you.”
“Undoubtedly.” She ignored my outstretched hand.
“Um, mother, Jack is an author. He wrote all the Ace Highsmith Detective stories. He’s working on a new one now.”
“Madam, I’m sorry to interrupt.” Jefferies stood in the doorway. “The luggage arrived. Shall I have it all brought up?”
“Oh, yes. Mother, do I have my old room?”
“Of course, dear. I suppose you’ll be sharing it?”
“Mother, we’re married. Jack, I’ll see to the luggage. Why don’t you and mother get better acquainted?” She made a gesture bringing her hands together. I rolled my eyes.
Vickie was scarcely out of earshot before the cat sank her claws into me. “When my daughter told me she eloped, I had no idea it was with a man in his forties.”
“Thirties.” The same statement would be a lie in six months but I let it stand.
“I’m sorry the years haven’t been kinder.”
Agatha’s animosity surprised me. Vickie warned me that the mother could be difficult, but this was beyond the pale. I decided that antagonizing our host would be both bad tactics and bad manners. “Why can’t you just be happy for her?”
“Happy she’s mixed-up with a gigolo who drinks before noon?”
The brandy was still in my hand. “Medicinal purposes. Your weather doesn’t agree with my delicate constitution.” I raised the glass in mock toast and drained it.
“Your sad attempts at humor won’t disguise the obvious, Mr. Hickox. I’m sorry to say that you fail to exceed my expectations—a phenomenon I’d hoped was impossible.”
The sound of breaking glass and a woman’s wail interrupted our verbal sparring.
“Now what? Wait here.” Agatha moved in the direction of the noise and I followed. The commotion led us to the front door.
“Jefferies, what is the meaning . . . Mrs. Hobbs . . .” In the foyer, Jefferies and two policemen were trying to hold a hysterical woman upright. Her knees had other ideas. A broken vase littered the floor. “What’s happened here?”
A constable named Owensby spoke up. “Someone’s killed the butcher. Murdered him in his own shop.”
The racket attracted Vickie and most of the staff. “Nicky Grogan murdered? I’m not surprised.” Vickie’s statement carried no emotion as she and her mother helped the unfortunate Mrs. Hobbs.
“Not Nicky, Miss, his father. George Grogan is the one who was murdered.”
The mere mention of the elder Mr. Grogan set off another round of hysteria from the distraught cook.
I caught Jefferies’ eye. “Bring her a brandy. Better make that two. I’m not feeling so good myself.” I turned my attention to the constable. “What can you tell us?”
“Your cook said she went down to put in an order. Nobody came to the front when she rang, so she goes around the counter and finds him on the floor with a knife in his back. We got called when somebody heard her screaming.”
“Any idea who did this?” I didn’t expect an answer.
“No sir. It took an hour just to get that much from her. The doctor is down there now. Chief Constable’s been notified. He’ll likely be here within the hour. We got a couple of our lads at the shop now, but Blake and me have to be getting back.”
“Jack, go with them. You’ve done this in a dozen books.” Vickie was insistent. “This could be the story you’re after.”
~~
The doctor was examining the body when we arrived and didn’t look up. He was a frail man with a fringe of white hair and the demeanor of a chained dog. “You’re standing in my light.” No mistake about who he thought was in charge.
I moved. The victim lay face down behind the counter with a carving knife protruding from his back. There was no sign of a struggle. He appeared to have fallen where he was attacked. It was difficult to avoid the blood and I said so. “What a mess.”
“Perforation of the right lung and a hemothorax.”
“Hemo-who?”
“He bled to death.” The doctor turned with an inquisitive stare. “Who are you?”
“Mrs. Chambers sent him over.” Constable Owensby answered for me. “Her cook was who found the body and Mrs. Chambers wants a proper explanation.”
“Jack Hickox.” I put out my hand. “I’m an American writer—here to do a story.”
The doctor ignored my hand and harrumphed his indifference but didn’t otherwise protest. The family fortune carried some weight, at least with the locals.
“He’s a big guy.” I offered the observation for no particular purpose.
“Six feet, two inches. About 16 stone, I’d guess. Oh, that’s a little above two hundred of your pounds.”
“Who’d want to do this to an elderly gent?”
“Not so old. Sixty-two.”
“You can tell that just by examining him?”
“I examined his wallet. Good thing you’re not a detective. I have to finish here. Mrs. Chambers can get a copy of my report from the Chief Constable when I send it.”
I thanked Owensby and Blake and made the ten minute walk back to the house. There were more police vehicles in the drive. A matron escorted Mrs. Hobbs to one of the wagons, followed by several uniformed policemen.
I found Vickie, her mother, more policemen and half of the domestic help in the library. Some of the servants were crying. Agatha looked catatonic. I turned my palms up and shrugged a silent question to Vickie.
“They’ve arrested Mrs. Hobbs for murder.” She had an arm around the mother, helping her to a chair.
“That’s ridiculous. Jefferies, bring Mrs. Chambers a brandy . . . and bring one for me while you’re at it. This butcher was a big fellow. I saw him. Mrs. Hobbs is too small to have knocked him down. What about the son? There’s a more likely suspect.”
Vickie took me aside. “I asked the same thing. Nicky was in jail when this happened. He was arrested in Whitstable yesterday afternoon. He’d stolen something or other.”
“That’s not enough to put him in the clear. He could have arranged it.”
“There’s more, Jack. The police searched Mr. Grogan’s house. They found letters. Mrs. Hobbs was his lover. They think she killed him because they had argued over money.”
“Whose money?”
“Hers. Mrs. Hobbs was upset he’d used her money to help Nicky. Apparently, the father couldn’t say no. Nicky was always a bad one, Jack. I heard he went to prison after I left for school.”
“It still won’t wash. Whoever killed the butcher brought him down on the spot and lover or not, she doesn’t have the size. Police have the wrong man . . . so to speak.”
“What are we going to do, Jack? I told mother she needn’t worry because you would get to the bottom of this.”
“Not much I can do until the police finish their investigation.” I arched an eyebrow in Agatha’s direction. “What happened to your mother? One minute, she had her teeth in me and the next minute, this.”
“Mother doesn’t deal well with change. She had a lot to contend with today and this business with the butcher and Mrs. Hobbs was the final straw. She needs a couple of days, so be patient with her. I’m going to take her to lie down.”
A moment later, Jefferies returned with a tray and two brandies. “Shall I take them up to the ladies, sir?”
“Just leave them, Jefferies. I have to start figuring out how to get rid of evidence. I may as well start with these.”
~~
I felt a sharp pain in my ribs and heard Vickie’s urgent whisper. “Jack, wake up. Someone’s at the door.”
I shook the cobwebs off long enough to see a silhouette momentarily framed by the light from the hall before the room was again engulfed in darkness. In the next instant I was blinded by the flick of a wall switch.
Vickie’s voice was shrill. “Jefferies, what is the meaning . . . .”
I squinted one eye open to see Jefferies standing just inside our bedroom door. He was holding an old-fashioned revolver and it was pointed at me.
“If I surrender unconditionally, can I go back to sleep? My wife can negotiate her own terms.”
Jefferies lowered the gun. “I know you’re not frightened, Mr. Hickox. I came to say good-bye to Victoria and I didn’t want any interference from you. That’s why I brought this.”
I showed him the palms of my hands in the universal gesture for surrender. Vickie was full of questions. “Why on earth would you leave?”
“Because the police will be here in the morning to arrest me for murder. They’ll figure out Mrs. Hobbs couldn’t have done it and they’ll be looking for someone else. I didn’t kill George Grogan either, but I’m the only one with a motive. I’m too old to spend the rest of my life in jail.”
“Oh, Jefferies, what possible motive could you have?”
“George Grogan killed my brother. Forty years ago. Yesterday was the anniversary. It won’t take long for the police to figure that out.”
“Wait a minute.” I couldn’t resist getting my own questions in. “If Grogan killed your brother, didn’t he go to jail for that?”
“It was a bare knuckle fight, sir. Forty years ago, those weren’t uncommon. My brother was the local champ. Grogan beat him, but my brother was too tough to fall. In those days, you didn’t get paid if your opponent didn’t go down and stay there, so he kept hitting him.”
“That’s awful.” Vickie’s hand was at her throat.
“I never wanted you to hear that story, Victoria, but now you have to. They say my brother died on his feet. Grogan paid a fine for unlicensed fighting, but he was never prosecuted for anything. Now they’ll charge me even though I didn’t kill anyone. That’s why I’m leaving.”
“Running is never a good idea, Jefferies.”
“Perhaps not, sir, but neither is spending the rest of one’s life in prison. Oh, I nearly forgot.” Jefferies took a small ring of keys from his pocket and laid them on the side table. “Keys for the liquor cabinet, sir. I thought it best if you had them.”
“Damn decent of you.”
“I’m sorry, Victoria. Give your mother my apologies when she’s feeling better. Oh, and have the kindness not to raise the alarm ‘til I’ve had some time.” Jefferies backed through the door and plunged the room into darkness.”
I turned on a lamp.
“Jack, do something.”
“I’m hardly dressed for the occasion.” I struggled into my robe and retrieved the keys from the sideboard. “I’ll make drinks. What would you like?”
“I meant do something about Jefferies. You can’t let him run off like that.”
“What would you have me do, dear? You’re forgetting the man is armed, although I doubt that relic could fire or that he could hit anything if it did. He’s not thinking clearly. Let him think things through. I’ll be surprised if he’s not back by morning. Scotch?”
“A double please.”
~~
The morning saw no sign of Jefferies, so I played butler. Around ten, our two local constables and a police matron returned with Mrs. Hobbs in tow. I invited them in and sent the maid for my wife. By the time Vickie came down, the entire household had been alerted and the more curious began filling the foyer.
The staff took charge of the visibly shaken cook and we went into the library with our police visitors. Vickie made drinks and passed them out. I felt vindicated and decided to say so. “Who finally figured out that Mrs. Hobbs couldn’t have done this?” My question was directed to Owensby, but Blake answered.
“Chief Constable Roberts said to bring her back, sir. Your man Jefferies was arrested this morning and charged with Mr. Grogan’s murder.”
“Oh, that’s absurd.” Vickie’s sharp tone brought Owensby into the conversation.
“Yes, Miss, but he was packed like he was going somewhere . . . and he had a gun.”
“I wouldn’t call that relic a gun.” I rattled my empty glass at Vickie for a refill. “Besides, wasn’t the butcher stabbed?”
Owensby got defensive. “Chief says we don’t know the cause of death because he hasn’t got the report yet. Did you know Mr. Grogan killed Mr. Jefferies’ brother?”
“Sure, but that was forty years ago. If Jefferies was going to shoot somebody, he would have done it when you could still get ammunition for that blunderbuss.”
“It’s probably like you say, sir, but the Chief won’t rule anything out.” Blake stood up. “We have to be getting back. Thanks for the drink, Miss.”
“Oh, Jack, this is preposterous. First, Mrs. Hobbs and now Jefferies? Mother will be apoplectic. I’m taking her shopping to get her mind off all this.”
I patted Vickie’s arm and finished my drink. “Let me walk you boys out. If I wanted to talk to this Chief Constable Roberts, where would I find him?”
“He’s in Canterbury today, sir.” Blake tried to be helpful. “That’s where they’re holding Nicky Grogan. Went to question him about his father’s murder.”
“I thought he was convinced Jefferies was his man?”
“Oh, he is, sir, but like I said, he’s thorough. Not a man who leaves anything to chance. Well, we’re off, then.”
I had a couple of ideas rattling around in my head. While Vickie tended to her mother, I changed and went looking for the chauffeur. I found Hadley under the hood of the Phantom. “Just the man I need. Is this beast in running condition? I have to go to Canterbury.”
“Oh, dear. I’m taking your wife and her mother to London to do Christmas shopping. You might be able to get a train, sir.” He consulted a schedule inside the driver’s compartment. “Eleven-ten, sir. There’s a train to Canterbury at 11:10. If I drive you to the station, you’ll have time.”
Hadley closed the hood and rolled down his sleeves. I noticed a cross tattooed on his forearm which struck me as odd only because Hadley didn’t seem like the tattoo-type. It took all kinds, I supposed.
The train to Canterbury gave me time to think over what I knew, which was precisely nothing, but I knew the police were going in the wrong direction. Perhaps this Roberts fellow could shed some light on things.
~~
I found Chief Constable Roberts in his office and got in to see him after a short wait. A burly man in his mid-fifties, he had a cheerful demeanor and an unruly mustache. I was surprised when I didn’t have to introduce myself.
“You’re Jack Hickox, the American writer.” He came around his desk and crushed my hand by way of greeting. “You look younger than the pictures I’ve seen. I’m told you’re here working on a new story.”
“Yes, and now I find myself in one.” I rubbed my knuckles, trying to make the feeling return. “I didn’t know my books were available in England.”
“My Canadian cousin sends them on. Read ‘em all, she has. I once imagined I would do well in the private detecting business.” Roberts had a faraway look. “Well, none of that. The missus wouldn’t hear of me abandoning the pension, would she?”
“I suppose not. I wanted to talk to you about the murder in Wellesley.”
“Ah, the butcher, yes. Nasty business, that.”
“Did you ever get the coroner’s report?”
Chief Roberts consulted some papers on his desk and selected one. “Preliminary report. Stab wound to the upper back. Bled to death. Only other injury was a bruise on the side of the skull. Appears he hit his head on the counter when he fell.”
“You’re holding Mrs. Chamber’s butler because he had a gun.”
“Ah, that’s what this is about. We caught the fellow sneaking off at four in the morning. Did you know the victim killed Jefferies’ brother?”
“Sure, but that was…”
“Innocent men don’t run, Mr. Hickox. You said as much in one of your books—Ace Highsmith and the Robin Hood Murders.
I couldn’t very well argue with a fan—or myself. “Jefferies’ brother died forty years ago. If he was going to avenge him, he’d have done that long ago.”
“Not necessarily.” Roberts waved an index finger at me. “Revenge is far better when properly aged. You said that in Ace Highsmith and the Bourbon Street Bloodbath.”
“I think I was talking about the bourbon.” If Roberts was going to quote me, I’d have to find a way to turn it into an advantage. I took out a small pad and a pencil. “You came down here to question Nicky Grogan. Do you think he had something to do with his father’s murder?”
“Not directly. He was in jail when his father was killed. No, I think Jefferies is our man, but I’ll not rule out one of young Nicky’s associates until I’m sure. You’re taking notes?”
“Like you said, I’m here for a story. I want to get my facts straight. No reason for you not to be in it since it looks like you’ll be the one to solve it. What can you tell me about Nicky Grogan? I heard he’d done prison time.”
Roberts’ face brightened. He pulled a folder from his desk and put on reading glasses. “He did a two-year stretch in Brixton for possessing stolen goods. Then they added another year for fighting. Got out last year.”
“A year for fighting seems harsh.”
“The other fellow was hospitalized—a Kraut named Braun. He got an additional two years because he pulled a knife. He was released last month.” Roberts pushed the folder across his desk.
“You’ve talked to Nicky. What’s he say?”
“Nothing. Oh, we’ve questioned him alright. He just stares at the wall. Not the sort you’re likely to beat it out of.”
“I’d like to talk to him if I could.”
Roberts pulled at the insubordinate mustache. “What makes you think he’ll talk to you?”
“I don’t think he will, but I’ve got a lot of unanswered questions rattling around in my head. If one or two of them make him nervous, we may learn something anyway.”
“You are a clever fellow.” Roberts picked up the phone and ordered the prisoner brought up. “Follow me.” We made our way down the hall to an interrogation room.
We were seated at the table making small talk when the guards brought Nicky Grogan in. He refused to sit down, choosing instead to stand and stare down at us.
One of the guards pulled a truncheon, but I held up a hand. In that moment of silence, everything fell into place.
“Come on.” I jumped up and grabbed Roberts’ arm. “There’s no time to lose.”
“But you haven’t asked any…” I saw Roberts gesture for the guards to take the prisoner and I heard him trudge down the hall behind me. I was pulling on my coat when he huffed into his office. “This is highly irregular behavior. If it weren’t for your reputation . . .”
“How would you like a murderer, all tied up with a Christmas bow, before the evening is out?”
“You know who killed the butcher?”
“Yes. It was the German and I can prove it.”
“How did the German get into this?”
“Release Jefferies in my recognizance and I’ll show you. I’m going to have everyone in the library at seven o’clock this evening. Oh, and I’ll need several of your men there to make sure nothing goes wrong.”
A hint of recognition showed on the Chief’s face. “That’s one of your books. That’s Ace Highsmith and the Pilsner Poisonings.” Roberts started to relish the idea. “Only there, you herded everyone into the wine cellar where you unmasked the murderer.”
“Yes, but this time the solution won’t hinge on how long it takes for bubbles to dissipate from beer. You’ll have a full confession.”
“This is highly irregular. It’s my pension if you’re wrong.”
“Your pension has nothing to worry about. Oh, and bring Nicky Grogan with you. Just keep him under wraps until I call for him. He’s our ace in the hole.”
~~
Vickie helped Jefferies distribute drinks while her mother sat quietly near the fireplace. The staff had been herded into the library and they occupied what seats they could find while others stood. Constables Owensby and Blake guarded the door.
Chief Roberts was the last man in. He gave me a nod to indicate that everything was ready and took a position where he could see everyone in the room.
I took a drink and cleared my throat. “We’re all here because yesterday morning, someone in this room killed the butcher.” There was a murmur and a few guarded glances. “Thing is, they didn’t know they were killing George Grogan. They thought they were killing his son, Nicky.
“Our killer had this well planned. They broke in and hid in the darkness until someone opened. But in the dark, you couldn’t tell the difference between Nicky and his father. They were the same size. Same shape. Our killer jumped from hiding and planted a carving knife in his back and that’s when everything went wrong.
“Nicky didn’t open the shop that morning because he was in jail. His father didn’t know that. He only knew his son didn’t come home. George Grogan opened the shop because his irresponsible son hadn’t. This time, it cost him his life.
“Wait a minute. Chief, aren’t we missing someone?” I nodded to Owensby and he opened the library door. Two constables escorted a manacled Nicky Grogan into the room. “Hello, Nicky. Good of you to join our party. I think you know a few people here. Take a look around.”
Nicky glanced around the room until his eyes fell on the chauffeur. “You . . . .”
“I thought you two might have a passing acquaintance.”
“Bastard.” Hadley looked at me when he spoke. For a big man, he moved fast. I jumped in front of Vickie and her mother as the gun came up. Blake’s truncheon found the back of Hadley’s skull and the echo of the shot filled the room.
The bullet gouged out a few inches of plaster in the ceiling but otherwise did no damage. Nicky had fulfilled his purpose and Chief Roberts had him taken back to the wagon. I refilled everyone’s drink while Owensby and Blake took turns slapping Hadley back to consciousness.
I spun a straight-backed chair around and straddled it, facing the still-dazed chauffeur. “Well, well, look who’s back with us. Mr. Hadley, or is it Mr. Braun? Gerhard Braun from Brixton Prison who had two years added to his sentence for trying to stick a shiv in Nicky Grogan. Two years to plan this and you still made a mess of it.
“How did you figure out who I was?”
“Your tattoo. You have an Iron Cross on your forearm. I saw it earlier today when you were working on the car. I didn’t think anything of it until I found out that Nicky had a year tacked on to his sentence for fighting with a German.
“Not likely an Englishman would have an Iron Cross tattoo. That’s too . . . Teutonic. I guessed you were Braun because that made the most sense. You came to Wellesley after your release to get revenge on Nicky. You watched him open the butcher shop every morning. So you picked a morning and stuck a knife in Nicky’s back, except it wasn’t Nicky. George Grogan died for nothing. He’s all yours, Chief.”
“Wait.” Braun pulled away from the constables and stood glaring at me. “You’re pretty clever. You got most of it right, I’ll give you that, but I didn’t kill the butcher. I don’t mind sticking a knife in a man, but I’ll be looking in his eyes when I do it.”
“So you say.” Roberts nodded to Owensby and Blake to take the prisoner out. “We’ll let a jury decide that.”
“If he wants to tell us anything we missed, I wouldn’t mind hearing it.” I refilled the Chief’s glass to give him an excuse to stay. “A few extra details might make you look better in the story.”
I poured drinks and we all sat back down.
“Like you said, my name is Braun, but I was born in Leeds an’ I’m as English as any of you lot. Well, not you. You’re an American. People with German-sounding names weren’t popular after the war, so I used my mother’s maiden name. That tattoo was for my grandfather. He got the Iron Cross in ’70.
“Nicky Grogan used to be my partner, but he crossed me. We were arrested for handling stolen goods and we both got two years in Brixton. What the coppers didn’t know was that we had a couple of warehouses full of stuff.
“While we were inside, Nicky had some of the boys move the merchandise to another location with the idea of cutting me out. I found out about it and that’s what the fight in the exercise yard was about. Nicky got an extra year and I got two.
“The rest you know, except when I went to the butcher shop, it wasn’t to kill Nicky. I went to get my share of the money. When his father walked in, I thought it was Nicky and put a length of pipe into the side of his head. I put on the lights and then I saw it was somebody else, so I scarpered.”
Chief Roberts rose from his chair. “It will still come down to a jury’s decision.”
I put another two fingers of whiskey in the Chief’s glass. “Who have you shown the coroner’s report to, Chief Roberts, besides me?”
“Well, no one yet—why?”
“Mr. Braun just admitted to striking the victim with a length of pipe that perfectly describes a wound only you and I and the coroner know about.”
Chief Roberts’ eyes widened.
“Now all the stories make sense.” I finished my drink. “Even Mrs. Hobbs’ story makes sense, doesn’t it Mrs. Hobbs?”
Mrs. Hobbs’ face was crimson and tears welled in her eyes. Her voice was barely audible. “I wish it didn’t happen.”
“You went to the butcher shop, just as you told us. When no one answered the bell, you went behind the counter and found George Grogan, but he was unconscious. You were angry with him because he was obstinate. There was a knife on the counter. You were angry about the money. You picked up the knife and drove it in his back.”
Mrs. Hobbs screamed. “I only wanted him to listen to reason. He wouldn’t listen. He couldn’t see past that no-good son of his. Everything went to Nicky. There was nothing left for us. Oh, George, why couldn’t you listen?”
~~
The last of the police finally left and most of the staff had retired. Vickie sat with her mother while a couple of maids tidied up.
“Would anyone care for a nightcap?” I put ice in a glass and looked around for a syphon.
“I would like a damn brandy.” It was the first thing I’d heard Agatha say in nearly two days.
“One damn brandy coming up. What would my lovely wife care for?”
“What are you making in the glass with the ice?”
“Scotch and soda if I can find the syphon.”
“On the table behind you and if you make it a double, I’ll take it.”
I handed out drinks and looked around for another glass. “Jefferies, we’re out of glasses.”
“Christmas is ruined.” Agatha drained her glass in a single gulp and held it out for a refill. “I feel badly for the people we invited.”
“People will understand, Mother. Jack, I told Mother she should take a trip to get her mind off all of this.”
“That’s a marvelous idea.” I gave Agatha another brandy. “There’s a boat leaving Southampton for New York tomorrow afternoon. We should all be on it.”
“We’ve hardly unpacked anything. I suppose we could make it. What would we do in New York?”
“We’d go to Penn Station and get on a southbound train.”
“I see where this is going.”
“You’re a clever girl. That’s why I married you. We can have Christmas with the icebergs and New Year’s Eve with the ponies at Hialeah. We’ll spend our days drinking with the horsey crowd and ignoring my publisher until he raises his offer. You’ll like Miami, Agatha.”
Agatha forced her best stage whisper. “Your husband is beginning to exceed my expectations.” Vickie raised an eyebrow and smiled.
Being a gentleman, I pretended not to hear and instead proposed a toast to our new plans. “Unfortunately, I have nothing to toast with.”
“I’m sorry for the delay, sir.” Jefferies’ apologetic voice caused me to turn. “I believe it was you who ordered the vodka martini?”
“Why, so it was, Jefferies. It was the first item on my Christmas list. I’m not even going to complain it isn’t gift wrapped.”
Meet the Usual Suspects
A Cinematic Moment
The Butcher of Wellesley, brought briefly to life.
Evidence Room
Found near the scene.
A noir keepsake.
Just take it. No questions asked.
