Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #3: Books 9-12 (A Dead Cold Box Set), Blake Banner [reading in the dark TXT] 📗

He restored it and refurnished it with genuine antiques. That, at least, was an investment. But his increasing closeness with young Robert Armstrong, and the vast amounts of money he was spending on him and his mother, that was cause for genuine concern.” He paused, tipping his glass this way and that. “Then things got much more complicated.”

I raised an eyebrow and smiled. “More?”

“Yes, because Charles Gordon Sr. fell in love.”

“Let me guess,” I said. “He fell in love with a girl who was of the wrong social class.”

The major looked a little startled.

I smiled. “I may be an American, major, but I lived here long enough to learn to distinguish the accents. I know a non-U accent when I hear one. Even if it’s been disguised.”

“Oh!” He stammered a moment. “Well, yes, that was precisely it. She was the daughter of the local publican. Very attractive young woman with a very lively personality. Had a sort of saucy wit, if you follow me. And young Charles was quite captivated by her. Absolutely head over heals.”

Dehan was watching him with narrowed eyes. “This is…” She pointed vaguely in the direction of the dining room.

He nodded, “Pam, yes.” He nodded again. “Well, as you can imagine, Old Man Gordon disapproved violently of the match. He might be sponsoring Robert Armstrong, whom many would consider inappropriate, but at least he was related to the Gordons. But this girl, however delightful she might be, was neither a Gordon nor an appropriate spouse for a Gordon!”

Dehan both frowned and smiled at the same time. “I think I know where this is going.”

The major chuckled. “Don’t be too quick, Detective. It isn’t as simple as it seems. Nobody knows exactly what happened because Charles Sr. won’t discuss it, but one version of the story goes something like this:

“Things came to a head when Old Man Gordon told Charles that if he persisted in his plans to marry Pamela, he would disinherit him and leave his entire fortune to Robert Armstrong. Charles agonized for a full week. He told Pamela he could not see her and he spent seven days either walking the grounds or locked in his room, brooding. Finally, on the seventh day he went and spoke to his father. They spent over an hour discussing the issue, and when Charles came out he was a different man. He was elated. He ran to the kitchen and embraced the cook and the butler and the maids—remember he was an American—and then he dashed off to tell Pam his father had had a change of heart! It was as though a cloud had been lifted from his mind and he had come down to Earth to realize the error of his ways. He gave Charles his blessing to marry whomever he pleased, and he told Charles he would kill the project and contact his brokers immediately to start reinvesting in solid stocks and shares, as he had done for most of his adult life.”

“That’s quite a turn around.”

The major nodded. “It is. It’s not unheard of, but it was dramatic. And I need hardly say, a huge relief for the entire household.”

I nodded. “I can imagine. So, what happened?”

“Well.” He sat forward. “That’s where it began to get very strange indeed. Refill?”

He went away and came back with the decanter. He refilled our glasses and settled back in his chair.

“As I said, Charles had gone straight away to see Pam and tell her the good news. When he’d returned a couple of hours later, he went to see his father, planning to tell him that he and Pam had set a date. He knocked on the door…”

Dehan interrupted. “What door?”

“Of his study, across the hall, in the tower. He knocked, but there was no reply. When he tried to open the door, he found it locked. This in itself was not unusual, he tended to lock himself in his study when he was working. But he failed to answer when Charles knocked and called to him, despite the fact that, through the window, as he had arrived back home, he had seen his father sitting at his desk.

“Concerned that he might be ill, he kicked at the lock several times until he broke it…” He paused and shook his head, gazing at the flames in the fire. “It defied belief. Old Man Gordon was sitting at his desk with a bullet wound in his right temple, and his .38 service revolver lying on the floor beside him. All the windows were locked on the inside, as had been the door.”

I frowned. “He committed suicide.”

The major nodded several times. “That would be the logical conclusion, and it was what the coroner concluded in the end. But the detective who conducted the initial inquiry was never satisfied. Chap from Scotland Yard, came up because of the high profile of the deceased, and because Charles was convinced from the beginning that something was wrong, and frankly, we haven’t got the forensic know how up here to deal with a complex case.”

Dehan asked, “What was it that didn’t satisfy them?”

“Well, you must remember that in the 1980s, forensic science was still in its infancy, but this chap, Inspector Henry Green, he thought that the angle of the shot was all wrong. If you shoot yourself in the head, the entry wound should be horizontal, and there should be a great deal of scorching because the muzzle is actually touching the head. But in this case, though his prints were all over the gun, the entry wound was at a slight, forty-five degree angle, and there was no scorching, as though he had held the gun at a distance, and at the height of his hip, which would clearly be impossible. There was also the issue of gunshot residue.”

“What about it?”

“There was none on