was. It would all have come to Sinclair in the end. The property is – what do you call it? – entailed. The oldest male always inherits. Now then, I’m glad I’ve caught you. A quiet word, if I may.’
As Harry allowed himself to be gently propelled into a quiet corner of the old school room, he caught sight of Gillian watching them.
‘We’ve had the results of the latest DNA test,’ said Rushton quietly. He too had spotted Gillian. ‘You know, the one done on the burned remains Mrs Royle had in her kitchen cupboard? It took longer than we’d have liked, but anyway, it’s back now.’
‘And?’
‘Result. Perfect match to our friend Arthur.’
Harry sighed. There was a bottle of Irish whiskey on the drinks table but it wasn’t even midday and he had a busy afternoon. ‘So let me get this straight,’ he said. ‘The remains Gillian Royle had in her kitchen cupboard all this time were actually those of a seventy-year-old man called Arthur Seacroft who was originally buried next to Lucy.’
‘Well, strictly speaking, just the remains of part of his right leg,’ said Rushton. ‘The rest of him is still in the grave. Ah, thanks, love, very nice.’
Christiana Renshaw had approached, carrying a tray of sandwiches. Rushton helped himself to two. Harry shook his head, then waited until Christiana had moved away to the next group.
‘So someone dug up Arthur’s grave,’ he said, ‘helped themselves to one of his limbs, broke into Gillian’s house that night, abducted Hayley, left Arthur’s leg behind in her cot and then started the fire.’
Rushton chewed for a few seconds and swallowed. ‘You have to admire their nerve,’ he said. ‘Without some trace of charred human remains in the house, the firemen would have been suspicious. Finding nothing would have given credence to Gillian’s claims that her daughter didn’t die in the fire. There would have been a serious search. We’d have found them in the crypt. Arthur’s right leg put paid to all that. We didn’t look for Hayley. Another serious error for me to account for when I meet my maker.’
‘Hindsight’s a wonderful thing,’ said Harry. ‘I’ve seen the report into the fire. Gillian showed it to me. The fire investigators had no reason to suspect arson.’
Rushton said nothing. He carried on eating but his actions had an automatic look about them. ‘We’ve also had the entomologist’s report back,’ he said after a minute. ‘Goes on at length about egg-laying and hatching cycles, cheese graters, skuttle flies, coffin skippers – sorry, lad, I don’t do bugs. The long and short of it is that he thinks Megan and Hayley joined Lucy in the ground in early September.’
‘About the time the church was reopened,’ said Harry.
‘Exactly.’ Rushton finished his first sandwich and got to work on his second. ‘Whoever was responsible wasn’t prepared to take the risk of the three being found when the new vicar decided to explore the crypt. So they were moved to the graveyard, which is the best place I can think of to stash away a body or two. He or she wasn’t counting on the Fletcher boys and their midnight escapades.’
At the far side of the room, Christiana reappeared. Her tray of sandwiches had been replenished.
‘Christiana knows more than she’s telling us,’ said Harry.
Rushton turned to look at Christiana. She moved slowly, but rather gracefully for such a tall woman. ‘Aye, so you say, lad,’ he said. ‘But when I talked to her she just said who wouldn’t be worried, after two other girls were found to have died the exact way Lucy did. And after Millie Fletcher so nearly went the same way. You have to admit she has a point. And before you ask, she volunteered to give us her fingerprints – they weren’t on the effigy you found, or on the wine decanter Mike brought in back in October.’
‘Oh, you’re probably right,’ admitted Harry. ‘I’m jumping at shadows.’
‘You know I saw her the morning after we found the bodies?’ Rushton said. ‘To ask her to identify the pyjamas?’
Harry nodded.
‘I showed them to Jenny and Christiana. Jenny wasn’t sure – well, she was very upset that day, but Christiana, now, she was quite something. She brought her workbasket out and showed me the patterns she’d used to make the animals, all those years ago. And then she told me the exact colour and reference number of each embroidery silk she’d used. She’s an odd one, but bright as anything in her own way.’