The Janus Stone

‘My father was a great classicist,’ Roderick goes on, ‘Christopher Spens. Have you heard of him?’

Something tells Ruth that she had better say yes.

‘He was a great man. A great headmaster. Wrote many books about Ancient Rome. But he never got the recognition he deserved. He died a broken man. Never got over my sister’s death.’

‘Your sister died?’ Ruth remembers Nelson saying something about Annabelle Spens. Could Roderick’s sister be the child buried under the door?

‘Of scarlet fever, yes. Nothing was ever right again. My mother stayed in her room all day crying. My father spent every hour at the school, never seemed to want to come home. He knew the house was cursed, you see. That’s why I had to kill the other baby, you see. To lift the curse.’

Ruth’s whole body is suddenly stone cold. ‘What baby?’ she whispers.

‘My baby,’ says Roderick carelessly. ‘I lay with one of the servants. An ignorant Irish girl but comely enough.’ His voice thickens.

‘And she had a baby?’

‘Yes, that’s what happens, you see.’ He leers at her. ‘I was only a boy, of course. She took advantage of my adolescent urges. She said she loved me. She was a poor thing really. But she had a child, a girl. She called it Bernadette.’

It. Despite everything, Ruth feels tears rush to her eyes. The baby, stabbed, beheaded and buried under the door was Sir Roderick’s child. And to him she is still ‘it’.

‘What about the mother?’ she asks.

‘Oh, she went back to Ireland. The land of saints and scholars.’ He gives that chilling giggle again. ‘I buried the body in the garden but when the pater had the arch and the columns built I dug it up and buried it in the hole under the new doorway. An offering to Janus, y’know. Protect our walls and all that. I put the skull in the well. It seemed the right thing to do.’ He smiles complacently.

‘But what have I got to do with all this?’ asks Ruth. Even if she gets free, will she be able to get past Sir Roderick? He is old but he looks fit. And he has a knife.

‘That detective, Nelson, he’s too close to the truth. I’ve told my son that I’ve got Alzheimer’s. He was only too ready to believe that I was going senile. Fits in with what he and his brainless wife already think about me. Anyway, he speaks freely in front of me. Doesn’t think I understand. I got him to take me to the site. I saw you digging there and I knew you would find out the truth. Then, when I was at the police station, I overheard your call. When DCI Nelson rushed out, he left his phone behind. Very careless.’ Giggle. ‘I read your message and I knew. You were having his baby. So, unless he calls off the investigation, I’m going to kill his daughter. It’s only fair after all.’

‘It’s not at all fair!’ Ruth bursts out, in spite of herself.

Roderick ignores her. He continues speaking, in a self-satisfied tone. ‘I saw you at the Roman site. I was there with the Conservative Association. They’d hired a minibus. Very civilised. Then, when I saw you at the house, I made the connection. I thought I’d try to scare you off. I wrote your name on the stone with the blood of a cockerel. Strong magic. I knew the archaeologist from Sussex would find it and tell you. I thought the dead baby was a nice touch. I knew you’d be there that day because you’d had dinner with him the night before.’

‘You’re well-informed,’ says Ruth, between dry lips.

‘My granddaughter works on the site,’ answers Sir Roderick airily. ‘She tells me all the comings and goings.’

‘Your granddaughter?’

‘An uncouth girl. But useful. Then, of course, when Nelson wanted to do the DNA testing, I knew he’d make the link between me and the body. That’s why I had to act. I knew you’d go to the Roman site, to see the stone. I waited for you every morning. I knew you’d come eventually. You were so kind, offering to get something from my car for me. As you were bending over, I hit you over the head with my car torch. A perfectly serviceable tool for the purpose. Then I drove you to the boat.’

‘How did you get me on board?’ Ruth remembers the jolly barbecuing families at the marina. Surely one of them will have noticed a man carrying a prostrate body on board. And, come to that, how did Roderick manage to carry her?

‘I wrapped you in a carpet. Like Cleopatra.’ Another giggle. ‘I parked my car by the boatyard and one of the men very kindly helped me with my burden. Remarked how heavy the rug was.’

‘Where are you taking me?’

‘To a house where I have the necessary equipment for libations, et cetera.’ He could be any elderly eccentric talking about his hobby. Except for the knife in his hand and the deranged glint in his eye.

‘No one will think of looking where I’m taking you,’ continues Sir Roderick. ‘Nelson will know he’s been beaten by a better man.’

‘Have you told him?’ If Nelson knows, he will be on his way. He will move heaven and earth to save her, she knows that. Oh please let him have told Nelson.

‘I sent him a text message. A crude form of communication but effective.’