A Dreadful Past (2 page)

‘Does sir collect Wedgwood? If sir does I have a few other items …' the antiquary offered, ‘… very similar to the vase.'

‘No … no, I don't,' the man explained. ‘Thank you, anyway … but I must have that vase. The missing figure you mention, it was in fact a depiction of a small child playing a flute, and the initials C.M. on the base belong to my father, Charles Middleton – he was the very naughty person who did that … and it was me who broke the vase. I was ten years old at the time. So you see it is essential, absolutely essential that I buy it. You must keep it for me.'

‘Oh … I see. Yes, of course, sir,' the antiques dealer bowed his head. ‘You may rest assured. It will be here when sir returns. Rest assured.'

‘My name?' The man sat in a slightly reclined manner on the thinly upholstered chair in the interview suite at Micklegate Bar Police Station, York. He noted the room to be painted in a gentle shade of brown up to the waist height of an average-sized adult and a gentler shade of pale yellow above that to the ceiling which was painted white. The floor was covered by a hardwearing carpet, also in brown. The four chairs were covered in a dark orange-coloured fabric, set in pairs either side of a low wooden coffee table. The room was, the man estimated, quite small, measuring, he thought, fifteen feet by fifteen feet, but quite adequate for its purpose. The walls were only about ten feet high, the man noted, thus making for a low ceiling. Two of the chairs were vacant; the fourth chair was occupied by Detective Constable Thompson Ventnor. ‘My name, as I gave to the constable at the enquiry desk, is Noel Middleton.'

‘And the vase …' DC Ventnor held the blue vase delicately in his hands, leaning forward as he sat in his chair. ‘It's a Wedgwood, isn't it?'

‘Yes,' Noel Middleton leaned back in his chair, ‘it is mid-nineteenth century, and it is definitely the same vase that once stood on a table in the window of my parents' house, which was just on the outskirts of York. I knocked it off and broke it into many pieces when I was running wildly round the house. My father dealt with the matter in the way he thought best, but he was a man of the old school. My mother came up to see me later that evening when Father had gone out and she did her very best to comfort me, but she did remind me that I had been well warned about running around inside the house, and if I ignored warnings it would only court disaster … which it did. So I only had myself to blame. I confess I never ran about the house after that,' Noel Middleton added with a smile. ‘Anyway, my mother glued it together as best she could but some of the white decoration was too delicate and had broken into just too many pieces to be recovered, as you can see. But that is how I know it is
the
vase, and when I saw his initials C.M. on the base then the identification was not in doubt.'

‘The initials are quite deeply scratched,' Ventnor noted.

‘Yes … that was just my father. He was very heavy-handed. Most any other person would have been content to superficially scratch their initials there but my father gouged his. That was just like him. It was his way,' Noel Middleton continued. ‘So when it had all been glued back together as much as it could be it was put back on the table and there it remained for a few more years until it was stolen in a burglary which took place about twenty years ago.'

‘So what you are saying, Mr Middleton, is that the vase is part of the proceeds of a burglary?' DC Ventnor was a man in his mid-twenties. He was dressed in a dark blue suit and wore a police officer's tie depicting a candle burning at both ends.

‘Yes,' Middleton nodded briefly, ‘it was one of a number of items that were taken. The burglary was quite a serious one. Quite serious indeed.'

‘I see.' Ventnor carefully handed the delicate vase back to Noel Middleton. ‘Well, sir … I'll take a statement from you, of course, but I have to make it plain that the chances of us apprehending the culprits after a period of twenty years is … well … it is slim to zero, but, yes … I'll certainly take a statement.'

‘Oh, if only it was that simple.' Noel Middleton sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together. ‘If only that were the be all and end all of the matter.' He sighed. ‘If that was the extent of it I wouldn't be here. I wouldn't have called upon the police, I promise you. I would have been more than content to have recovered possession of the vase and left it at that, even if I did have to pay for it. I would gladly have left it at that. It is, however, far, far more serious than that. I said it was a very serious burglary indeed; in fact, it was more than a burglary, sadly. Much, much more.'

‘Oh?' Ventnor held eye contact with Noel Middleton, whom he was finding to be learned and urbane. ‘More serious? In what way?'

‘Yes, as I said, much more serious.' Middleton paused. ‘You see, my parents and my sister were murdered by the intruders. The perpetrators were not able to be traced despite the case being given much publicity, and the items stolen in the burglary never surfaced. Until now, when just one item, the Wedgwood vase, has finally appeared.'

‘Murder!' Ventnor echoed. ‘I see … I see … that does indeed put a different perspective on the matter.'

‘Yes, multiple murders. It was one single explosion of violence and it took the lives of three people. It is, after all this time, what I understand is called a “cold case”. A cold case of multiple murder,' Middleton emphasized. ‘Very cold but also very multiple. Now, I would not dream of presuming how to tell you your job …'

‘Thank you.' Ventnor smiled and inclined his head to one side. ‘We always appreciate that attitude from members of the public.'

Middleton returned the smile at the gentle rebuke. ‘But I would have thought the ownership of the vase might be able to be traced back from owner to owner until the police identify the person who obtained it from the persons who burgled my parents' house.'

‘Yes,' Ventnor nodded in agreement, ‘that would be a definite line of inquiry. It is exactly what we would do.'

‘The antiques dealer seemed to me to be above reproach,' Middleton added. ‘You see, I am aware that, like the motor trade, the antiques trade can be a conduit to crime, but I did not think the dealer from whom I bought the vase to be in any way suspect. I am sure he would have kept a record of the purchase.'

‘Good.' Ventnor nodded. ‘We'll certainly interview the gentleman. Which shop was it?'

Middleton told Ventnor, who wrote the address of the antiques shop in his notebook. Then Middleton added, ‘I should also inform you that it was and still is my impression, and was also the impression of the police at the time, that the incident was a burglary that had gone badly awry – what I mean is it was a burglary that escalated into multiple murder. I am certain that my parents and my sister were not the targets of premeditated murder which was then made to look like a burglary. That was not the case at all. I am quite sure of that.'

‘I see.' Ventnor pursed his lips. ‘That is indeed useful. It means that we do not have to look into your family's private life for a motive for some person or persons unknown with a motive for murdering them.'

‘No … no it's not … it was not at all the case.' Middleton spoke softly but with definite conviction. ‘My father could be a difficult, irascible man. Few liked him – indeed, many disliked him, but I can't think of anyone who disliked him sufficiently enough to want to kill him, and also his wife and his daughter.'

‘And you escaped?' Ventnor observed. ‘I mean, clearly you escaped.'

‘Yes, quite simply by not being there. I was at university at the time, at Durham. It was a Wednesday when I was informed. I played in the Durham second eleven … cricket … and that day we took a right drubbing from Liverpool University's second eleven. I got the news that evening when I was not fully sober. You may know how sports afternoons run into massive evening drinking sessions, but the state I was in helped to soften the blow somewhat.'

‘It would do,' Ventnor agreed. ‘Alcohol can have its uses.'

‘Oh, yes … oh, indeed, I have found that to be the case in respect of other events as the years have gone by.' Middleton glanced up at the low ceiling and suddenly smelled the gentle and pleasing aroma of air freshener in the room. ‘I can also tell you that the items stolen were all of a low bulk, high value nature – you know, watches, jewellery, that sort of thing, which makes the theft of the Wedgwood vase a bit of an anomaly, it being relatively bulky and fragile. It was as though it was grabbed at the last moment and on the spur of the moment, or perhaps as a container for the other items. But nonetheless the profile of the stolen goods further indicates that it was a planned burglary with unplanned consequences.'

‘Yes … good point,' Ventnor agreed with a distinct nod of his head. ‘Good point.'

‘And,' Middleton continued, ‘it also, in my view, points to the quite frightening coldness and detachment of the killers. By that I mean they would not have carried on with the burglary after my parents and sister had been murdered. I think it much, much more likely that what happened is that once the robbery was complete and the felons were ready to quit the house, just at that point they were disturbed. They then attacked my parents and sister, probably not intending to kill them, but kill them they did. Even then they didn't panic; rather, instead they calmly picked up the loot, popped it into the vase and made good their escape, ensuring they left no trail or tracks for the police to follow. They simply vanished into the night.'

‘Very professional,' Ventnor offered. ‘Very cold and detached and professional.'

‘Which is a gross misuse of the word,' Middleton replied coldly. ‘There is nothing particularly professional about what they did, nothing at all, but I know what you mean. The burglars were evidently neither inexperienced nor were they opportunistic.'

It was Tuesday, 17.35 hours.

George Hennessey sat in a relaxed and a casual manner behind his desk and glanced quickly to his left out of the small window of his office at the ancient walls of the city of York at Micklegate Bar. He saw at that moment just two tourists, a man and a woman who were strolling calmly and contentedly, arm in arm, under the blue, near cloudless early May sky. Hennessey then turned back to face his assembled team who sat patiently in front of his desk and sipped from his mug of hot, steaming tea. He smiled briefly at his team of detectives who had, as usual, arranged themselves in a neat semicircle, and all of whom, like Hennessey, clutched a mug of hot tea. ‘There were,' Hennessey began in a quiet voice, ‘developments late yesterday afternoon, so I believe, Thompson?'

‘Indeed, yes, sir. A very interesting development, it would seem.' Thompson Ventnor sat forward and consulted a new, recently opened file which he held on his lap and reported, ‘Mr Noel Middleton presented at the enquiry desk carrying an antique Wedgwood vase.' Thompson went on to further report the story Noel Middleton had related to him the previous afternoon. Ventnor then continued: ‘I have obtained the original file from the archives, as you can see.' He patted an older second file which he had also placed on his lap and which all present privately thought was an embarrassingly thin file for a case of multiple murder. ‘And it seems,' continued Ventnor, ‘that it was just as Mr Middleton stated: a burglary of a wealthy solicitor's home some twenty years ago escalated into the murder of said solicitor and the murder of his wife and daughter. They were all, it is reported, murdered in what seemed to have been a sudden frenzy of violence. Quite extreme violence, in fact. The post-mortem reports speak of multiple blows causing contusions and fractures. Each victim apparently sustained severe head injuries as well as other injuries, but according to the pathologist's reports here in the file, it was the head injuries in all cases which proved fatal. The murders appeared to have made quite a splash in the media.' Ventnor opened the original file at the back and revealed many faded newspaper cuttings about the incident. ‘There were the usual appeals for witnesses and a substantial reward offered for information leading to a conviction,' he added.

‘You know, I do remember that investigation – I remember it well.' Hennessey ran a meaty, liver-spotted hand through his silver hair. ‘I was a youngish copper then – I seem to recall that I had just been promoted out of uniform. I was a detective constable, and although I was not part of the original investigating team still I recall the murders very well … a solicitor and his wife and daughter. Yes, I recall the case vividly. It's all coming back to me. I remember the sense of determination in the building among the officers; they really wanted to apprehend the felons. Was there not something about the daughter which provoked a moral outrage and made the police and the public very angry?'

‘Yes, sir,' Ventnor replied. ‘I can well understand the anger. I'd feel the same – I think we all would. The daughter was blind.'

The assembled group of detectives groaned loudly in a shared feeling of dismay and disbelief.

‘She would not have been able to defend herself or run away,' Thompson Ventnor continued solemnly. ‘She was also very young, just nineteen years old. The house was quite remote … it is probably still quite remote. It seems that there were no dogs – not even a guide dog – and no alarms. They were very vulnerable … particularly the daughter.'

‘Not even a guide dog?' Hennessey echoed. ‘That is an aspect of the case of which I was unaware … or at least which I had forgotten. But I'm sorry, do please carry on, Thompson.'

‘Apparently not, sir,' Ventnor carried on. ‘In reading the file it seems that the trail went cold very quickly. All known felons were questioned. No one seemed to know about the murders and, according to the recording made during the investigation, the criminal fraternity in the Vale of York were equally as angry about the robbery and murders as were the police and the general public … A blind girl being battered to death. I mean, as we can all imagine, that went wholly against the criminal code of honour and fair play. No one would have shielded them or anybody for that matter for doing that … no one. I say “them” – I should explain because the indications were that the burglary was carried out by a gang of thieves being more than two but no more than six. So the local villainy were unable to help but that is interesting in itself, we might think. It meant that they were either out-of-towners or that they had no criminal record prior to the incident, and also that they didn't mix with the local felons.' Thompson paused and then continued: ‘There were no fingerprints to be had and so, despite the effort and the press coverage, sadly the case went cold and it appears to have gone cold very quickly. There was then no further mention of the incident until Mr Noel Middleton, being the son/brother of the deceased, presented at the enquiry desk yesterday.'