Thorfinn Grimm's Holiday — Part 5

Sins of the (Grand)Father

As it says in the title, this is the fifth part of Thorfinn Grimm’s Holiday. Here’s a link to the index so you can catch up on previous parts and older stories, and don’t forget to subscribe!

Chapter 5

You may recall that I consumed a large amount of marijuana in anticipation of a climactic showdown with a secret international organization, which turned out to just be Interpol. Five minutes after I explained the situation to Mrs Morstan, the effects began to kick in.

I don’t generally consume psychedelics. They tend to make me very… loopy. As a result, I don’t remember much of what happened after that. Why would I willingly put myself in such a situation, you ask? It’s very simple really: I needed a break.

I do remember one thing. At some point, I found myself standing in the burned-down remains of Darby House. Before my very eyes, time began to rewind, restoring the house to its condition before the fire. I was standing in Mr Walter Darby’s bedroom. There he was, lying on the bed, with a wicked grin on his crooked old face. At the foot of his bed was an old-fashioned lantern, which pulsed with a warm yellow glow.

Then David Bowie walked in, and I realised I was dreaming.

When I woke up, I was onboard an aeroplane, sitting next to Mrs Morstan.

“Oh good, you’re finally with us,” she laughed. “You really can’t handle your weed, Finn.”

“Thank you, Alice, I know,” I said. “Would you mind filling me in?”

The Story So Far:

Pippin invited Thorfinn to his family estate for Christmas. Then, on Christmas Day, someone set fire to the house and murdered Pippin’s grandfather. A week later, Pippin’s mother disappeared, and Thorfinn tracked her to Thailand, where he met a group of Interpol officers who informed him that the victim, Mr Walter Darby, was in possession of a secret document, the publication of which would have dire consequences for the world as we know it. Meanwhile, while going through his grandfather’s papers, Pippin discovered something that he believed might be the answer to the whole case. Before he could tell anyone, he was interrupted by Abigail Sinclair, the maid, who tearfully confessed to the murder. As Finn and Pip reunite, the final pieces of the puzzle fall into place.

Luckily, I didn’t do anything too stupid while I was high. Apparently, I tried to pick a fight with a lamp post, but that’s pretty tame by my standards.

It was a long flight, and Alice and I got to talking, telling each other about our families and our childhoods. She was quite shocked to hear mine, but I felt hers was no picnic either. Her mother died when Alice was really young, leaving her and her older brother Frank to be raised by their horrorshow of a father. Their only comfort was their young au pair Ms Sinclair, who would later become Mrs Bunting.

Picture it, if you can, a young boy and girl, all but alone in the world. Their father would often fly into terrible moods, his angry voice echoing through the house. When things got particularly bad, little Frank would take Alice by the hand and lead her to a small cupboard, behind which was an entrance to one of Darby House’s secret passages.

Inside the dark, musty room, he would hug her close and say, “We’ll be safe. We can just sit here and wait. Once he’s dead, we’ll be free.”

Inevitably, they would fall asleep, and Ms Sinclair would find them, carefully returning them to their beds. The next day, the cycle would start all over again. It would take nearly half a century more for Alice to finally be free.

(Photo by Suzy Hazelwood / Edited on Canva)

Pippin met us at the airport, greeting his mother with a warm hug. Once we were on the train, he told us everything he’d discovered. He’d brought his grandfather’s papers and books with him, and I examined them closely as Pip recounted his story. It was late by the time we arrived at the guesthouse and retired to our rooms, but I was too excited for bed. The pieces finally fit together, and I knew almost exactly what had happened at Darby House on Christmas Eve. There were just a few things left to tie up.

First, there was the maid.

“I killed Mr Darby,” Abigail had told Pippin the night before. “I didn’t mean to, but I did.”

How did she kill him? You see, ever since he had his stroke, Mr Darby required regular injections of various medicines. This would normally have been the duty of a nurse, but all the ones they hired kept quitting because Mr Darby was a horrible person. And so, it had become one of Abigail’s nightly duties.

“The doctor prescribed some morphine, you see,” she explained. “Only for emergencies, like if he was in too much pain to sleep. Well, that night, after how horribly he behaved at dinner, I’d had enough. I gave him the morphine, thinking maybe he would sleep in a bit and give us all some peace. I didn’t know… but if I hadn’t, if he hadn’t been drugged, maybe Mr Darby would have survived. He could have called out for help, or crawled out of the bed, or something. If only...”

She went on like that for a while. Pippin didn’t know quite what to make of her confession. It didn’t explain the fire, for one thing. But I thought there was something important in there, a detail he’d forgotten to ask her about. So I went down to her room and knocked.

“Sorry to wake you, Abigail,” I said. “I just have some questions. After you gave Mr Darby the morphine, how much time passed before the fire started?”

“Not long,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “I ran into Mr Frank Jr. just outside. We talked for about five minutes and then we heard someone scream.”

“Do you know what time that was?” I asked. “And did they scream ‘fire’, exactly, or was it just a scream?”

She had no idea about the time but she thought she heard the word fire. She couldn’t be sure, though.

(Photo by cottonbro studio / Edited on Canva)

My next stop was at Frank Jr. and Elizabeth’s room. They were not asleep. Elizabeth threw the door open as soon as I knocked.

“You’re a detective, right? Get in here,” she said, dragging me into the room and shoving a box of chocolates at me. “Look at this. My husband is trying to kill me.”

“I’m not trying to kill you,” Frank Jr. insisted.

“They’re hazelnut chocolates,” she explained. “I’m allergic, and he knows it.”

“I honestly just forgot,” said Frank Jr.

I managed to get them off the topic of the chocolates and asked them about the scream they heard that night.

“I was right outside our room,” Frank Jr. said. “And I distinctly heard someone shout ‘Fire!’”

“Well, I was inside the room, and I heard different,” said Elizabeth. “There was a scream first, then someone shouted fire. The voice was all echoey too, so I couldn’t make out who it was or where it came from. Maybe he would have noticed if he wasn’t too busy with that whore.”

I thanked them for their help and left before another fight could break out. I was about to head to Frank and Cora’s room when I noticed a black car idling outside the guesthouse. I realised who it was, and made my way downstairs to meet them.

(Photo by Erik Mclean / Edited on Canva)

Inside the car were two people, a man and a woman, wearing identical black suits.

“You’re not Interpol,” I said as I entered and sat in the back seat. “Intelligence, I’m guessing?”

“That’s what we’re here for,” said the woman. “Did you find the document?”

I handed them a bag filled with all of Walter Darby’s books and papers. The man took it from me and carefully set it on the dashboard, handling it as if it might explode.

“It’s not in there,” I told them. “I checked. No documents, transcripts, letters. Nothing that could possibly be of any importance to any government anywhere.”

“What is it then?” the man asked, looking quite perplexed. “What’s in the bag?”

“Something much worse,” I said. “It’s his autobiography.”

(Photo by Vladimir Shipitsin / Edited on Canva)

It was in the pages of Mr Walter Darby’s sordid life story that his grandson Pippin discovered the answer he was looking for. It was a story from Mr Darby’s past, an act so despicable, it made my skin crawl.

Thirty years ago, Mr Darby bought a block of flats. His plan was to demolish them and sell the land to a developer. However, the residents protested their eviction and took Mr Darby to court. It was a major case, and justice was ultimately served, with the court ordering a stay on the mass eviction. The good guys won.

That night, Mr Darby paid some goons to set fire to the buildings. More than half the residents were burned to death in their beds. And Mr Darby demolished the flats anyway.

Sadly, it wasn’t nearly the worst thing Mr Darby had done. But it certainly ranked among his top ten sins. While I spoke to the intelligence agents outside, Pippin decided to confront the one other person he could think of who might have known about this, and who he knew had suffered a tragic loss thirty years ago.

I did tell him to wait, that it was a terrible idea to confront a potential murderer all by yourself, but since when do people listen to me?

No, there was nothing I could do to stop him from knocking on that door and saying, “Father Moore? We need to talk.”

To Be Concluded…

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