Silent as the Grave Read Free

remain so, for I can find no justification to recommend commitment of further resources to this matter until and unless further evidence emerges that would shed further light on them.
    I remain, my Lord, your most Humble and Obedient Servant,
    Albert Arthur Cummins, Inspector of Police, North Riding Of Yorkshire Constabulary.
    This 24 th Day of September in the year of our Lord, 1880.’
    I put the document aside and thought about the contents. Somewhere within the house or grounds of Mulgrave Castle I was convinced there was evidence of anything up to five murders. That night I had a strange dream. I dreamed I was in some part of the castle. I knew there were others there with me. I could neither hear them nor see them but I sensed their presence.
    It was cold; but they had long since ceased to feel either heat or cold.
    It was dark; but they had long since lost the power to see.
    It was silent – as silent as the grave.

Chapter Two
    December 1979
    I’ve never considered myself lucky with women. Mind you, I’m not that good at cards either. Even when I was a minor ‘celebrity’ – dreadful word – I couldn’t claim women were actually falling over themselves to get to me. Not that I’d have been interested anyway; for by then I was married, some would have said securely married, but such are the stresses and strains placed on a marriage by both Georgina’s profession and my own that security is a lot to hope for.
    I had started out in the way many journalists do, as a junior reporter on a local newspaper. In my case this was in Yorkshire. At that time local radio stations were a novelty that had not reached as far north as the River Trent, let alone the Swale, but by the time they did someone must have seen something promising about my style of news presentation because I was invited to become a ‘stringer’ for our local, fledgling broadcaster.
    As the network was in its infancy there was little sign that it would survive to adulthood, but it did, and as it grew I found my services more and more in demand. Eventually, I was offered a staff position, and from radio I transferred seamlessly to regional television almost before I had chance to realize where my career was heading. Local had become national and I was heading for London.
    It was only after that; when one or two people began glancing at me in the street with an ‘I know your face’ expression that I began to understand how far I had come. Once again I was lucky; I was in the right place at the right time and was offered a post as a foreign correspondent. I had little hesitation in accepting, for I knew it was a golden opportunity to broaden my experience and knowledge, to travel; to reach a more senior position in the news business. All in all there was so much to recommend it; little in the way of disadvantages. I was twenty-seven years old, single, an only child, and both my parents were dead. There was nothing to keep me in England.
    Of course any thoughts that I would become a star overnight were soon banished. This was achieved courtesy of the city of Lisbon. Don’t get me wrong; Lisbon is a beautiful city, full of friendly, charming, and courteous people. From a news reporter’s view, though, none of those facts is a recommendation. During my time there little happened. So little that I was reminded of my early days on the staff of the local paper; covering weddings, cricket matches, and village fetes. Lisbon is just like that, only on a bigger scale – and without the cricket.
    From there I was moved to Paris and saw a bit more action; then I was recalled to London and told of my new posting. A week later I boarded a jet at Heathrow. I was about to begin one of a foreign correspondent’s dream jobs. I was heading for New York.
    Two minutes after I had taken my seat, I started fiddling with my safety belt, and my action caused me to inadvertently grope a young