A Murder In Hartley (Part 4)
Origin Of Murder Series
“Emma, are you still up?” He softly called, as he opened the front door.
“Yes, Dad, I’m here.” Her sweet voice echoed back from the sitting room in which she sat, busying herself with a well-worn book.
The Superintendent stepped into the room, finding a seat beside the fire, opposite Emma. His face was worn and sorrowful.
“Are you alright, Dad?” Her eyes were filled with compassion.
“Yes, Em’s - I’m doing alright. But I dreadfully miss your mother and brother.”
Grief stole across her face. “Me too; I miss them so much. The one comfort I find is at least we had time to prepare for Mum’s death. But Harry’s…” she paused, dashing a delicate hand across her eyes. “His death…it shouldn’t have happened - he was far too young. Why did he have to die?”
“I know Em, I also struggle with it. But at least we can know he died defending his country, and that is honourable.”
Emma stood up quickly, tears flowing freely. “Honourable? There is nothing about war that is honourable. And all it’s done to me is steal my brother from me.”
The Superintendent also rose, and gently took Emma by the hand. “Every single day, I ask myself why he had to die, and I just don’t know. But it has made me think, and actually consider the things that Reverend Goodman speaks about every Sunday. I don’t believe it yet, but I want to talk to him about it, because you know they also lost one of their sons, and yet their grief is different. I don’t know how they manage, without falling into despair, but there’s a hope, or a peace, that they have, and I want it too.” He wrapped his arms around Emma, trying to console the sobbing figure.
“I know, Dad, but then why did God take Harry?And Mum?” She stepped back, a grief-hardened look in her eyes. “I’m sorry Dad, I just can’t stand it when I see people who’ve lost nothing, absolutely nothing, live their lives normally, or people like Jimmy Nibs, who are too lazy, or too selfish to go and fight.” Her fists were clenched, and her knuckles white.
“That’s the reason…” The Superintendent hoarsely whispered.
Emma’s gaze flicked back to him. “What? What do you mean?” She stammered, her face growing white.
“Emma, sit down.” His voice was firm but raw with emotion.
She sunk into the chair, wide-eyed and trembling. “Yes Dad?”
“I know that Jimmy Nibs came to visit you the day he died. And I know it wasn’t about Bonfire Night. Don’t lie to me, because I’ll figure it out sooner or later. It’s best to tell the truth.” He leaned forward, sorrow brimming in his honey eyes. “Em, please, tell me everything.”
She breathed in deeply, sobs racking her body. “Oh Dad, I’m so sorry…I was so, so angry and upset at Jimmy because of what happened to Harry. All those brave young men risking their lives to fight, and here was Jimmy, sitting safe at home. I hated him for it, and I wanted to kill him. I really did.” She paused and looked out into the darkness beyond the window.
“And then what happened?”
“I invited him to come around; I told him it was so we could talk about plans for the Bonfire Night. I knew he often helped out with it.”
“But you’ve never helped with the planning?”
Emma shook her head sadly. “I know, but he would have just thought I was helping out this time. By that point, I had made up my mind to kill him, I just hadn’t decided how. And then Jack brought me a few foxgloves, and it gave me the idea. I knew how poisonous they could be, if not handled carefully, so I decided to brew some tea with a few of the leaves.”
“So Jack was part of it?” The Superintendent’s face was white and drawn with deep anguish.
Emma’s gaze shot up. “No, no, he didn’t know anything. He would never do anything like that; you know him, he wouldn’t.”
“I thought I knew you too…” The Superintendent choked, dashing a shaky hand across his eyes.
“When Jimmy arrived, I poured him a cup of the tea. I knew how much he loved sugar in his tea, so I made sure there was plenty, and that disguised the bitter flavour. He seemed to like it, because he drank it awfully quickly, and I gave him another. We talked for about fifteen minutes, and then he got up suddenly, saying he didn’t feel quite right. He’d gone rather pale and seemed quite shaky. He left a few minutes later. I started to panic, because I didn’t know if the poison would work. I grabbed a whiskey bottle from the kitchen, the one you were saving for Christmas - I knew you wouldn’t notice it gone for a while - and then followed him outside. I knew the path back to his house led through the forest, so I took the shortcut behind the church, and waited to see him come past…” here she faltered.
“Go on…”
“Well, it took him about twenty minutes to come, but when he did finally arrive, I could see something was awful wrong with him. He was stumbling along and kept clutching his heart. Then suddenly he slumped, and slipped into the river. I ran over, thinking he might still be alive, but there was nothing. He was gone. Dead. And I had killed him.” She whispered, choking on her words.
“And the whiskey bottle?”
“I poured it all out on him, and then dropped the bottle nearby. I wanted to make it look like he had gotten so drunk he’d killed himself. And then I ran back home, and pretended nothing had happened. That was the worst night of my life.” Tears splashed down her face. “I didn’t know you’d find out, Dad, but I’m so glad you know now.”
The Superintendent’s face was ash-white and stricken with grief. The room was silent for what seemed like ages, as he sat there, lips quivering. Then his eyes slowly lifted, and met Emma’s teary gaze. “Oh Emma…I don’t know what to say. I can’t believe you’ve done this. You’ve murdered a man, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I have to arrest you, but I hope you know it absolutely tears me apart to do it. Why, oh why, my darling girl, did you do it? I thought I had brought you up differently.” He buried his head in his hands.
“It was for Harry, Dad.”
“But it’s murder! And he would never have wanted you to do that. We’re both grieving, but killing was never the answer. If only I could go back, and reverse the things you have done…”
“I’m so sorry, Dad. I know it was wrong; I wish I had never done it.” She wept.
The sun shone brightly, scorning the sorrow of Hartley village. The news had spread like wildfire, and before midday, all the locals had been informed of who had killed Jimmy Nibs. It was to their utter dismay and shock when they found out their dearly beloved Miss Emma was the culprit. And for one young man, in particular, this news had dealt a cruel blow. After driving to his army base, the Superintendent had told Jack in person, not wishing him to hear it from anyone else. The young man was heartbroken. Grief clung like fog in the village that day.
Back in the Police Station, Tom stood waiting in the Superintendent’s office, numbly sorting through the stack of papers on his desk. His usual enthusiasm had been buried with Emma’s confession, and a softer side, rarely seen, had instead taken its place.
Dull footsteps tapped outside, and the Superintendent walked in.
“I’m so sorry to hear, sir.” Tom said.
The Superintendent swallowed hard; his eyes heavy with remorse. “So am I, Tom.” He slumped into the chair behind his desk. “I need to take some time off, and I don’t know if I’ll be back. I never expected…” his voice caught, and he paused. “I never thought she did it. My own daughter.”
Tom stepped forward. “I understand sir. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
“Thank you Tom. For the time being, you will report to Superintendent Wesley. He’s going to be in charge for now, while I’m on leave.” Weary lines crossed the Superintendent’s face. He slowly rose, each movement almost too much to bear. Tom followed him outside the room. The Superintendent hesitated for a moment, his vision watery as he looked back into the all-too-familiar place.
“I’ll sure miss it here.” He closed the door one last time.
A few minutes later, he was making his way towards Hartley Green. The streets felt cold and distant, or maybe it was simply he who felt so far away, so separated by grief. He hardly noticed the church bells ringing dolefully as the clock struck twelve. The sky was a deathly grey; with pale white clouds patched throughout. The wind wailed mournfully, rocking the trees back and forth as they flailed in its’ grasp.
He trudged along until he had reached the church door. It was ajar slightly. He pushed it open and entered. The place was completely quiet, and yet the silence was almost unbearable.
“Reverend? Are you here?” He stammered, resting against the third row of pews.
A door closed softly, and William Goodman walked in; his face filled with tender care. “Oliver? I don’t know what to say. I’m so dreadfully sorry to hear about Emma.” He gestured towards one of the chairs. “Come, let us sit. How can I help you?”
The Superintendent sunk into the pew; his hands clenched tightly together. “I lost my wife to illness, my son to the war, and now this? My daughter too?” Sorrow broke his voice. “I’ve lost everything.” He whispered, his voice hoarse and cracked.
“I’m so sorry for your loss. I too know what’s it’s like to lose a child.” The Reverend swallowed hard, his eyes damp with the shared grief.
“But you handle it so…differently. There’s a peace I can see in you. And I want it too.” The Superintendent cried.
“Oh Oliver, the truth is the only reason I handle it differently is because I have hope.” His voice caught, but he continued. “I still struggle with my Charlie’s death every day, but I rest in the peace that he’s with our Heavenly Father, and there’s no place I’d rather him be. The hope I have is the same hope I preach every Sunday to you all, and it’s what I desperately pray you all find.”
The Superintendent looked up, fixing his gaze upon the Reverend. “I’ve heard it so many times, but it’s never made a difference to me. I’ve tried to do the best I can, and all God has ever done for me is take away all the ones I love the most. Why? Why does he allow it to happen?”
“Sometimes, our good Shepherd brings us to our lowest point, right to our knees, so that we can truly see our helplessness without him. Salvation has nothing to do with our best efforts.” The Reverend placed one hand gently on the man’s quivering shoulders. “You see, you and I, we both deserve death - we’re both sinners. But that is where this hope comes in…God sent His son to die for us, to pay the price for our sins. Can’t you see His great love for us? If we trust in Him and repent, He gives us eternal life, and complete forgiveness of sins. And that is why I can have hope, even when Charlie died, because I trust Him with everything, and I know it’s all for my good. All these years, I have ever seen the faithfulness and love of my good Shepherd.”
Tears flooded the Superintendent’s eyes. “I’ve been trying so hard these past years, but you mean it’s nothing to do with me?”
A warm smile lit up the Reverend’s face. “There is absolutely nothing you or I can do to gain favour with God - that’s why it’s called grace. We both know death can happen at any time, so why wait?”
“Thank you Reverend. You’ve given me a lot to think about,” he paused, and his eyes seemed to flicker with light for a moment, “and to pray about.”
“I’m always happy to talk, anytime, and I will be praying for you. Don’t put it off - death comes to us all, even when we’re least expecting it.” He pulled one of the pew bibles off the row in front and passed it to the Superintendent. “Here you go, have a read. I suggest you start in Romans.”
The Superintendent smiled weakly. “Thank you; and I’ll see you on Sunday.”
5 months later. Rain thundered down against the cobbled road, spattering heavy drops across the village. Lightening flickered across the sombre sky, and thunder growled in the distance. A cloaked figure hurried down one of the streets, battling against the bitter wind as it raged on. They paused outside one of the houses, giving a firm knock on the door.
No answer.
Knock, knock.
The door finally opened.
“Tom?” The Superintendent stood within, a baffled look on his face as he beheld the dripping officer. “What on earth are you doing here, in such weather like this?”
“Oh sir,” he gasped. “There’s been a murder. I mean, there will be!”
The Superintendent looked utterly perplexed. “What ever do you mean? You should be telling Superintendent Wesley, not me.”
“But that’s just it, sir. He’s the one in trouble. And we need your help.” Tom panted.
“But what do you mean there will be a murder? And for goodness sake, come inside. It’s ferocious out there.” He stepped back in and led Tom to the sitting room.
“Now, tell me again. What do you mean?”
“We received this today,” he passed a damp note to the Superintendent. The paper was chalky white, with blood-red ink etched across in a perfect line.
Rest in peace…in 12 hours.
“Who was it for?” His face was taut with worry.
“Superintendent Wesley.”
The end