“Ah, that’s right, there are four Royal Marines on the property, I had been told.”
“Quite right. The brigadier was a colonel and our regimental commander during the war. Sir Charles was a lieutenant colonel, a company commander, and his executive officer, Sir Richard commanded another company. I was a freshly minted subaltern, leading a commando platoon. The war was good for all of us. Colonel Burns became brigadier, and Sir Charles succeeded him as colonel and regimental commander, with Sir Richard as his executive officer. I was promoted to captain and made regimental adjutant, or administrative officer.”
“And how did the brigadier become a hermit?”
“A sad story,” Bugg said. “He was a confirmed bachelor and something of a swashbuckler with the ladies. Unfortunately, he swashed his buckle once too often with the wife of a brother officer — this after he had made brigadier. He had hoped, with good reason, to rise to commanding general of the Royal Marines, but it was made clear to him that he would never make major general, and he resigned and took his pension. Sir Charles and Sir Richard packed it in soon after, pretty much in protest of his treatment. I stayed on for another fifteen years, and I retired when Sir Charles offered me this job. I live in a cottage on the estate with my wife. We have one son, who is grown, now, and living in London.”
“How did the brigadier take his treatment by the Royal Marines?”
“He was devastated. Sir Charles had come into this place, and the brigadier approached him and asked to move onto the property as hermit. Sir Charles built a tiny cottage for him in a patch of woods, and he made do with his pension and by keeping the woods, thinning it and selling firewood from his work. He shaved only twice a year: once in January, for the regimental reunion, and once in August, for the Squadron Ball, at the end of the Cowes Week regatta. He turned out in uniform and was charming and gregarious on both occasions. Otherwise, he lived quietly and rarely spoke to anyone.”
“Have you heard what his motive for killing Sir Richard might have been?”
“I have not.”
“I’d like you to find him a solicitor, a good one from the county, and have him seen in jail before the day is out. He’s going to find the experience depressing, and I want him to know that he’s being taken care of. I’d like to speak to the solicitor today, after he’s seen the brigadier. By phone will be fine.”
“Certainly, I can do that. In fact, I know just the man: Sir Thomas Everly. He’ll prepare the defense and he’ll know the right barrister for the trial.”
“That’s fine.” Stone handed him his card. “This is my New York address and phone number. My secretary’s name is Joan Robertson, and you’ll find her very good to deal with. I’ll have her call and introduce herself. Joan will make regular deposits into the household account, so you can submit your monthly needs to her and she will move the money.”
“Thank you, I’ll look forward to speaking with her.”
A trim woman in her forties came to the door and knocked.
“Mr. Barrington, this is my assistant and bookkeeper, Miss Edgeware.”
Stone rose and shook her hand. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said, “but there’s a call for Mr. Barrington.”
“Of course,” the major said.
“It’s Deputy Chief Inspector Holmes on line one.”
Bugg pointed to a phone on a small conference table behind Stone, and he turned and picked it up. “Good morning, Inspector.”
“I wish it were so, Mr. Barrington. I am sorry to tell you that your hermit, Brigadier Wilfred Burns, took his own life in the wee hours of the morning.”
Stone sucked in a breath. “I’m sorry to hear that, too, Inspector. How did he accomplish that? Was he not under guard?”
“He tore a bedsheet into strips, made a rope, and hanged himself from the bars in a high window. He was under guard, as all our prisoners are, but not under suicide watch, as we had no reason, after speaking with and observing him, to think he was at risk.”
“Did he make any statement after his arrest?”
“He declined to speak to us and asked for a solicitor. We would have provided him one today. He also left a note in his cell, confessing to the murder and telling us where to find the weapon, a military knife.”
“Did he explain his motive?”
“He did not.”
“Do you have any reason to believe that his confession was not credible?”
“None. I was convinced early on that he was our man.”
“Thank you, Inspector. I’ll see that his remains are collected for burial.”
“There will have to be an autopsy, of course, and that cannot take place before Monday, perhaps Tuesday. I will ring you when the remains are available.”
“I’m leaving for New York on Monday morning, so please ring Major Bugg at this number. He will be authorized to make the necessary arrangements.”
“I bid you good day, then.”
“Good day.” Both men hung up.
Stone turned toward Bugg. “The brigadier hanged himself in his cell last night.”
“Good God!”
“He left a note, confessing to the killing. Is there a burial ground on the property?”
“St. Mark’s Church across the road, just outside our gates. I’ll make arrangements with the vicar and the undertaker.”
“Thank you. The inspector will phone you early next week, after an autopsy has been performed, to let you know when the body can be collected.”
“He was fierce when leading his men in battle,” Bugg said, “and was highly decorated, but I cannot imagine him killing anyone, particularly Sir Richard, of whom he was fond.”
“I’ll leave it to you to inform the next of kin and see that all expenses are met.”
“I already know there is no next of kin. The staff here were his family.”
“I’m sorry I won’t be here for the services,” Stone said. “I’ll speak to you on Monday morning before I leave. Will you inform Sir Charles of these events?”
“Of course.”
Stone left Bugg’s office and went to find Susan.
11
Stone called Susan on her cell phone.
“Hello?”
“Where are you?”
“In the cellar, in the boiler room. Come have a look.”
Stone found the stairs down and shouted her name until she answered. He found her in a clean, well-lit room with gleaming machinery humming away.
“I wanted you to see this,” she said. “It’s emblematic of the way Sir Charles kept the house. And I expect you’d like to see the wine cellar, as well.”
“Of course.” He followed her down a hallway, and she opened the door with a key and switched on the lights. “I had this constructed, then inventoried the bottles and arranged them by type and vintage.” Stone looked around and reckoned there must be forty or more cases of wine. He looked at some of the labels and found they had been laid down years before.
“Sir Charles has already selected his two dozen bottles and removed them,” she said. “Where have you been this morning?”
“Going over things with Major Bugg,” Stone replied. “He told me that the brigadier had been arrested last night.”
“Who is the brigadier?”
Stone told her the whole story, including the phone call from the inspector.
“That’s awful,” she said. “Is this going to affect our departure date?”
“Not in the least. I’ve done all I can do, and there’s no reason for us to hang about another week for the funeral. I never even spoke to the man.”
“Good. My men in the vans called a few minutes ago. They should be here any minute, so I’ll have to go upstairs and place the furniture and the pictures.”