Rhino continued

Neither of the accused has any memory of seeing Blakeney in the street although both recall speaking to him in the Sun Inn. The only thing to connect the two men to the murder is the fact that they admit to being there at or near the time when they say that they found the body – they had blood on their clothes which matched her type. McCullum has a history of violence as a young man and Pringle has done time for theft – this isn’t told to the jury but it would be difficult for the impartial observer not deduce it from the words of the prosecution.’

Roger had read and re-read the notes. The evidence was very poor for a conviction – the Police had obviously wanted a prosecution and McCullum and Pringle were easy for them.
“So Charles, you lived in Barnes for nearly fifty years and you never met Patricia Owens?”
“No, definitely not – although looking at the photograph of her, I think I perhaps should have!” There was another glint in Charles’ eye but a suggestion that his answer seemed a bit rehearsed. “Excuse me, I think I am going to have to find the gents.” Rising slowly but certainly from his seat, Charles headed off leaving just his stick and coat on the back of the chair. Roger glanced at the stick. It wasn’t a normal stick; it was a dark, rich cane with an ornate top carved from rhinocerous horn – ending at the top with a neat carving of a lion’s head with two small staring eyes carved from yellowing ivory. Beneath the carving at the top of the bamboo cane there was a gold collar with engraving on it – too faint to be read from where Roger was sitting. Too faint, except for one word and four numbers; ‘Delhi’ and ‘1934’.

Roger sat back. Was there any significance in the stick? Delhi had to be significant. He had to get closer to it; he had to read the rest of the engraving. Charles was coming back; and he sat down heavily with a sigh.
“Oh, there is someone else I ought to tell you about.” His breath seemed laboured as if the visit to the gents had taken its toll.
“Who’s that, Charles?”
“Her name was Harriet – she was unbelievable!” His demeanour and his now relieved bladder, appeared to have freshened at the prospect of talking about another conquest.
“Look Charles, can you hold this for a minute – I really want to know about Harriet, but I just need the gents as well – just one minute?.” Not waiting for a reply and getting up quickly and walking behind Charles, who had leant forward as he was about to tell Roger about his sexual exploits in Harriet’s home whilst her husband was mowing the lawn in Lonsdale Road, Roger deftly plucked the cane from the back of the chair. Keeping it away from Charles’ view, he walked quickly into the toilet and, in the bright light over the mirror, Roger examined the ornamental engraving.
‘To: Ernest Graves, on your retirement. Delhi, August 12th 1934.’

Patricia Owens’ (nee Graves) paternal grandfather retired from the Indian Civil Service on August 12th 1934. Roger had only seen the name Graves; on the Coroners report. The engraving struck him like a bolt of lightning.

“So tell me about Harriet, Charles,” asked Roger returning to his seat and easily hooking the cane unseen on the back of Charles’ chair – he’d very nearly left by the pub’s side exit to rush back to his editor with the evidence in hand. There was no reply. Roger moved back into his seat and looked across at Charles. Charles’ eyes were closed; he looked like he was sleeping. Roger prodded Charles and there was no response. Charles had died.