The Whitby Murders (A Yorkshire Murder Mystery), J. Ellis [free ebook novel TXT] 📗

‘I know, sir. But it’s all over now, and she’s safe,’ repeated Granger.

At that moment Oldroyd’s phone went again. It was Andy asking how everything was progressing.

‘It’s fine, Andy,’ he finally managed to say. ‘It’s all over. We’ve got Pesku here and Steph has arrested Morton in Leeds. They were the murderers. Steph’s done a wonderful job. I’ll tell you more later. Can you send a detailed report on what you’ve found to Inspector Granger?’

‘Okay, sir. I’ll get all this stuff sent up too.’

He ended the call and felt enormous relief that they’d finally got to the end, mixed with the awful shock of knowing how close things had come to further tragedy. He’d never felt so utterly exhausted at the end of a case.

Seven

From Brig O’ Dread when thou may’st pass,

Every nighte and alle,

To Purgatory fire thou com’st at last,

And Christe receive thy saule.

From the Lyke Wake Dirge

It was Sunday morning and Oldroyd and Granger confronted their captive in the interview room. He’d been brought over from Leeds the previous evening. A solicitor sat next to him and a police officer sat on a chair in the corner of the room. Morton was bedraggled and defeated but retained a sullen defiance. Oldroyd stared at him for a few moments, appalled that his daughter had almost entered into a relationship with this man and then nearly been murdered by him.

‘Let’s go right back to the beginning,’ he said. ‘This was one of the most evil and devious schemes I’ve ever encountered in over thirty years of detective work. It was about the shocking betrayal and murder of three innocent people, two of them your own friends, for nothing other than personal gain.’

Morton shrugged but didn’t say anything.

‘It all began about a year ago, didn’t it?’ continued Oldroyd, trying not to express the utter contempt he felt for the man in front of him. ‘You were in Leeds at a conference or something and Andrea, who was also up from London, invited you to the flat she’d inherited from her aunt. She particularly wanted you to see the artwork. If only she’d known what would happen as a result. When you got there you were very impressed by the collection but you were astonished to see one painting that was extremely special.’

Morton’s face lit up at the memory. ‘It was a painting called “Love and Pain” by Edvard Munch. He painted six versions of it and I knew one of them was missing. I couldn’t believe it. I can’t imagine how her aunt ever came to possess it but there it was.’

‘Of course you knew all about that because you were obsessed with vampires.’

Morton’s eyes seemed to take on a mad gleam and he spoke with a terrifying enthusiasm. ‘Oh, yes, the thrill of that darkness and power. That bite of love which gives you complete control. The beauty of the red blood of life spilling out and catapulting the lucky victim into the eternal glamour of the undead. Who could resist that wonderful pain? And to paint such things is an ecstasy. I’ve been in thrall to vampiric art since I saw my first vampire painting. It’s pure joy to . . .’ And so he went on until Oldroyd finally stopped him.

‘I see,’ said Oldroyd, shocked at the sadomasochistic rant he’d just heard. ‘Why did you keep all this a secret? You had exhibitions of your work but I don’t think you ever included anything of this nature.’

Morton smiled. ‘This was private, you see, just for me until I’d become famous and then I would unleash it on the world in all its deadly glory, like Dracula rising from his coffin.’ He stood up and the uniformed officer stirred. Morton’s voice was raised. ‘And all would worship the glory and power of my art!’

‘Sit down!’ said Oldroyd firmly. This broke a spell. Morton seemed to deflate, slumped back onto his chair and wiped his brow with his arm.

‘So,’ continued Oldroyd. ‘You realised that Andrea had no idea about the significance of this painting and how valuable it was so you didn’t say anything. It was your intention from that day onwards to get your hands on it. I suspect you had two contradictory motives. It was a painting you would love to possess, but on the other hand, with the money you could get from selling it, you could give up the distraction of having to earn a basic living through teaching and concentrate on your own art. Your talent could finally be fulfilled. You believe in your unrecognised genius. Am I right?’

Morton nodded and smiled. He seemed to appreciate Oldroyd’s understanding of his motives.

‘There was the painting hidden in a collection. If you could get rid of Andrea Barnes, you could remove it and even if someone noticed that a painting was missing no one would remember what it was and no one knew its worth. Then you could sell it anonymously. Lost paintings are always being discovered, aren’t they?’

‘Yes. I asked her questions and it was clear that there was no one around who could have known about the painting so no one would report it stolen.’

‘I’m sure you did. But unfortunately you forgot that there was someone else besides Andrea who was familiar with everything in the house, even if she didn’t know much about the works of art. The cleaner, Mrs Adams . . . She told Louise about the artwork that was missing and described it. That made Louise suspicious, especially when she learned that you’d been in Andrea’s house. But we’ll come to that later.

‘The problem was: how could you get rid of Andrea? It had to happen in a way that drew all attention away from you. Suicide, accident, or being murdered by someone else. I imagine it was very difficult to think how it could be done until a number of things came together for you, which they sometimes have a devilish habit of doing