R - 3 - R

R - 3 - R

an Angela Parsons mystery

by Wesley Thanderin

ONE

August 22nd, 1485
near Shenton, Leicestershire

There was a lull in the carnage.

“John! Quickly, come here!”

“Yes, father.” The young man maneuvered his horse alongside that of his father. “What is it? Do you see any opening we can exploit?” Intently surveying the battlefield, he held his sword at the ready.

“No, I fear not. A feeling comes over me that the tides will go against us.” He looked hard at his son. “I want you to leave here – leave at once – and get yourself to safety.”

“Father,” he was horrified, “I cannot abandon your cause, especially because of any evil omens you might have seen. Even more so, in fact, as you will need every sword you can get.”

He hung his head and shook it slowly, once. “One very good sword arm, as yours is, would do miracles for us. But even that is not enough to conquer the treachery at foot here today.” He looked to the hillock in the distance.

His son looked that way too. “I wondered about them, too, thinking maybe you had held them in abeyance until needed to deliver the final blow to the rebels.”

“Unfortunately, no. I have already sent word for them to engage the foe, but still he and his brother hold back. Methinks they have decided on a different course.”

“What cowards they are, father, not even choosing a side to fight on. Hoping to be able to join whichever victor rules the field.” He spat on the ground. “I curse them and their line to the end of time!”

“Little good that will do us in the here and now. By the fact that they do not aid us, they have shown to be supporting the rebels. A sign from the Almighty could not be more plain to see. And that is why I need send you away immediately.” He put a hand on his son’s shoulder. “You must also help your cousins to safety. Their lives would be forfeit if the rebels get there first. For the sake of your children and theirs, you must go now.” He slid the visor back down on his helm. “Godspeed, my son!”

John bit back further protest and wheeled his horse. “God be with you, father!”

Spurs kicked into his flank, the horse sped from the bloody fields.

He never saw the next charge which, aided by those traitors, stormed the position held by his father. Had he stayed, he would now be dead, but he lived.

Lived in an adrenalin rush as he flew across the countryside away from the carnage to save those of his family and friends he could find, cursing the foul traitors with every hoofbeat and vowing everlasting vengeance with every ragged breath.

TWO

June 21st, 2010
near Nutley, Sussex

"Jeez, grandfather. Don't you get enough murder at work?"

The gray-haired head popped around the kitchen doorframe. "What ever are you talking about, Angela?"

She pointed to the small bookcase over the television. "These things. I thought you got enough of that at work. Do you read all these murder mysteries as well?" She read some titles. "'The Killing of William Rufus', 'What Gunpowder Plot Was'. Just a little light reading?"

He laughed and crossed the room. "No, these are historical mysteries. Many have been unsolved for centuries."

"And you have been solving them for what? Practice?"

Another chuckle. "No, it’s a hobby of mine. We have had so many unsolved cases at The Yard over the years that I thought I might gain some perspective in trying to see how historians solve these cases. The few on this side," he indicated the group she was reading from, "are those that I think have been adequately solved. These others," he indicated a larger group at the opposite end of the shelf, "are those that have not been solved, in my opinion."

She glanced at that group and read the titles. "'The Compleat Jack the Ripper', that one is easy to understand. But this one, 'The Princes in the Tower', that would be Richard the Third, wouldn't it? You don't think that's solved? In history we were taught that he killed them. Is there more to the tale?"

"Oh, very much more, I'm afraid." He laughed. "This volume has moved from one end of the shelf to the other several times. New research, new findings; and I begin to wonder again."

She turned back to the 'solved' end of the shelf. "I know what the Gunpowder Plot was – Guy Fawkes, right? – but who are these other characters? William Rufus… I never heard of him."

"William Rufus is better known as William Second, King of England. He was son of the Conqueror, you know."

"And the King was murdered? Why didn't anyone investigate it back then?"

"Well, let's just say 'political expediency' overrode judicial prudence. Such is the tale with the Gunpowder Plot as well." He shrugged. "And probably for most of these crimes. Interested parties destroyed evidence to point in the direction most beneficial to their needs. Politics and power at play, and we are left with the mysteries."

"So, has it helped in your work?"

He laughed and clapped her on the shoulder. "Not as much as I had hoped, Angela. But at least it has been entertaining."

"Perhaps you should try murder mysteries? Some of Agatha Christie's were innovative."

"Yes, Dame Agatha was quite good but most of those mysteries are reverse engineered: the writers study police cases and write from our files. It would do no good to read most of them, I already have access to the originals."

"Oh, well, it was just an idea. I heard some of my classmates extolling the virtues of mystery writers to help them get a leg up in the course. I guess they've got it the wrong way round."

"Perhaps not. Have you ever read through a case file? Very dry stuff! And a lot of information that is not pertinent to the case, but we have to read it all. The mystery writer would condense all that to a much more enjoyable read, I am certain. So perhaps your friends have the right idea."

Now she laughed. "You're pulling my leg, grandfather! How are we going to get writers to distill every case just so we can enjoy the read? And wouldn't they have to solve the case first?"

"I rest my point. And that latter is, in any case, our job." He chuckled. "Still, some of the techniques displayed by the detectives in those novels could be replicated. And that, my girl, might just shorten some of our investigations."

"Yeah, but which technique?"

He motioned her toward the kitchen. "And how about your classes? I must say, I was surprised to hear you had decided on the criminal sciences rather than psychology, like your parents."

Angela rolled her eyes. "Believe me, there's plenty enough of psychology courses. It's practically a minor!"

"Yes, I know." He turned off the burner and grabbed a pot holder to pour the hot water from the kettle. "Understanding the criminal mind is of the essence. So many have the same traits."

"No intelligent criminals then?"

He poured the water into two cups. "I did not say that! There are… but fortunately for us they are few and far between." He dropped a teabag into each of the cups and handed one to her. He saw her eyes widen. "What, you don't think there are intelligent criminals?"

She giggled. "No, I was just wondering when you started using tea bags. What happened to the purist I grew up with?"

"Since your grandmother passed," he shrugged, "I seem to have gone Bohemian."

The mood grew somber for a moment.

Noticing his gaze seemed to drift, Angela tried to lighten the mood. "Oh, I remember you mentioned something about a research project you were involved with."

"Oh? Oh, yes," he shook his head lightly as though to clear it. "Oxford is doing some genetic research… something to do with cancer." He shrugged slightly. "Since that is what took Maud, I thought I should do something to try and help the research. Of course, it can never… you know…"

She hugged him tightly. "I'm sure granma would be very proud of you." She pulled away, grinning. "Not that she wasn't already proud of you."

"Of me?" He laughed. "I wasn't anything but a pencil pusher all my life."

"Don't sell yourself short, granddad. A Chief Inspector for the Yard is more than a mere pencil pusher." She hugged him again and turned to retrieve her teacup.

"Maybe so, but it was mostly paperwork. And I don't mean just filling the stuff out. Files, files, and more files to pore over. I certainly hope you know what you're getting into. It's not as glamorous as the telly seems to make out."

She nodded as she sipped, leaning back against the kitchen counter. "I know. We've already done a couple of 'stake-outs' with the local police force. Two nights and nothing happening."

"Cold, dreary work, isn't it?"

"Actually," she smirked, "I found it exhilarating. Something could have happened at any moment. The adrenalin was working overtime."

"Yes, for two nights, it could. What happens, though, when the two nights become thirty… or sixty. Still think that would be exhilarating?"

"I dunno. I suppose I won't know til it happens."

He winked. "Oh, it will. Trust me, It will. And probably sooner than…"

The ringing phone interrupted him. He looked at the phone and then back to Angela, blinking.

"You look shocked. Are you going to answer it?"

"I usually don't until we are through with dinner, but…"

"I don't mind. Really I don't." She gestured him toward the phone.

He walked across the small kitchen. "No one has called in months." He picked up the receiver. "Hello?" A pause. "Yes, this is… Jenkins, is that you?" Another pause. "So, why is the Yard interrupting my retirement? Can't handle a case without me?" He chuckled, but soon the laugh lines drained from his face. "You're not serious!"

His tone brought Angela alert and away from the counter. Her eyes searched his face for some clue about what was going on.

His eyes seemed to search her face as well. "All right, I suppose I could be there… What? Tonight?" He looked at Angela, saw her nod. "Yes, my granddaughter and I were just about to sit down to dinner but I suppose we could…" He glanced back at Angela before continuing. "Yes, we could grab a bite on the way in. Yes." Another pause. "Fine, we'll be there as soon as possible." He returned the phone to the hook.

"Well?" She was practically bouncing.

Hand still on the phone, he stared at the floor reflectively a moment before turned to her. "They say they need some help on a case. Hmph!"

"It must be something very important… high level or something."

He looked at her and shook his head, chuckling. "Angela, you have greatly exaggerated the reputation of this old man. I was never the 'hot shot' of the Yard. No one came rushing to me for my wise counsel about a case. Ever."

She was confused. "Then why do they need you, like, right now?"

"That's the puzzle." He scratched his head. "It isn’t even a case I worked."

"Then why call you?"

"It was a case my first partner worked on but he passed away some twenty-five years ago, so they cannot ask him." He left the kitchen, Angela in tow. "When I started at the Yard, he trained me on a couple of unsolved cases. One in particular puzzled him for years before he showed it to me."

"And its still an unsolved case?" Angela opened the front door.

"Yes, And the really sad thing is that it happened to be the very first case he had ever worked on. And I was the last to study it before he retired."

Halfway to the car, Angela stopped. "Hold on, granddad. Exactly when did this case take place?"

He grabbed her elbow as he passed, pulling her toward the car.

"Nineteen-twenty-nine."

Angela, wide-eyed, barely noticed the trip to the Yard.