02 - Flight of Fancy by Evelyn James Page B

the call-out and the second was a
record of the search the police had made the next day. There was nothing else.
    “They didn’t really try, did
they?” Oliver said.
    “I suppose there was so little
to go on. What do you do if you haven’t got a body or even know how a person
died? Perhaps they thought it was a hoax and that Goddard had run off instead.”
    “With his mistress perhaps? And
his wife claimed he had died and vanished to save face? That didn’t happen, did
it?”
    “Colonel Brandt assures me
Goddard O’Harris was quite dead and I have no evidence of a mistress.”
    Oliver nodded.
    “Shall we see about that other
file?” He went to some shelves marked 1908 by a fading slip of paper and ran
his fingers along the assembled folders, “Here it is, a touch thicker but I
wouldn’t get your hopes up.”
    He brought the folder to the
desk and opened it. They both looked at the top sheet.
    “Goodness!” Remarked Clara,
“Another murder!”
    “It was ruled accidental.”
Oliver pointed out.
    “A maid takes a tumble down the
main staircase and your mind doesn’t spring to foul play?” Clara flicked
through the papers, “Ah, a post-mortem, and as I thought she was pregnant.”
    “I don’t know whether to say
you are just deeply clever or have a dreadfully suspicion mind.” Oliver
chuckled.
    “I do not mind either. Accidental,
my foot, the girl either threw herself down because of the shame or was pushed
and whichever way you look at it that is murder to me.”
    “And a motive for Goddard’s
death?”
    “I consider it very feasible.
This happened 1907, a year later Goddard dies. That is time enough for someone
to learn the truth and plan their revenge.”
    “It is always extraordinary fun
having conversations with you.” Oliver grinned, “I never know quite what to
expect.”
    “I’m rather glad my morbid
interests appeal to you.” Clara replied, “Most people find them remarkably
awful and prefer I don’t discuss them.”
    “They are clearly very dull
people then. Anything else I can do to help?”
    “I wonder… do you suppose you
may have some photos in your shop archives of the old O’Harris manor around
that time?”
    Oliver considered.
    “Father may have taken some
shots. Can’t guarantee anything, but I will take a look.”
    “Thank you Oliver.” Clara
smiled, suddenly very glad she had not turned away from the archive door.
    “May I walk you home?” Oliver
asked.
    “Yes you may.” Clara responded.
     

Chapter Eight
    Captain O’Harris looked quite
miserable when he opened the door to Clara the next day.
    “Excuse my expression.” He
muttered as he ushered her inside, “I’ve received some bad news.”
    “I am sorry to hear that.”
Clara said, genuinely concerned to see this lively man so downcast, “Anything I
can help with?”
    “No, unless you can resurrect
the dead? Sorry, that was poor taste.” O’Harris slumped into a chair and waved
a telegram at her, “Bertie Law, first-class pilot and jolly good shot. Used to
act as my gunner from time to time in the war and saved my backside more than
once from the bloody Hun.”
    Clara realised the captain was
a touch drunk.
    “What happened to him?”
    “Took a job on one of these
Arctic explorations, aerial reconnaissance is all the rage. They build these
little Arctic planes with enclosed cockpits and skis instead of wheels and pack
‘em into boxes for the journey. Bertie went with a German party, the irony hah?
He was to fly whenever he could and take photographs.” O’Harris stared at the
telegram, “His plane crash-landed into the ocean, took those bloody Huns two
days to find him and it was too late. Poor chap died of hyperthermia.”
    O’Harris crumpled up the slip
of paper and threw it on the floor.
    “I’m sorry to hear that.” Clara
said gently.
    “It’s the shock of it that does
you in. You know these planes are a bloody risky business, the Buzzard has had
some near misses in her time, but you