end of his nose. “By doing nothing, being intestate, he’s ensuring that they’ll all receive a proportion, assuming we can find them.”
“That very thought has struck us,” Ruddock spread out his hands. “It’s almost a contradiction.”
“OK, we’ll have a look at it.” Fillery stretched out his hand for the file. “What’s the time slot?”
“We’re not being besieged by claimants as yet, but if any heir hunters get involved it could upset matters. But that is another strange thing. There are no claimants at all.”
“That’s odd, very odd,” said Fillery. “Matt said that Barry Freedman was following it up, I gather they knocked sparks off each other. If it was anyone but him I’d probably ask a favour, but not that bastard. OK, I’ll put Rex Seymour onto it. This is all there is of the file, is it?”
“That’s it.” said Ruddock. “All the detail is in there, but I agree there isn’t much, the main item is the birth certificate. I’ll leave it with you, I guess it shouldn’t take too long.”
Rex Seymour sat before Rod Fillery and his thoughts were much the same as those of Ruddock and Fillery. Why hadn’t Accrington made a will? If he had fallen out with family members; dying intestate was one method of ensuring that the estate would be divided amongst whoever could be found, so if he wanted to spite them this would not have the desired effect. Or maybe he just wanted to spite his more immediate family members!
Rex Seymour was the odd man out as far as Fillery’s organisation was concerned. He was not a former member of any police force. He was aged about 31, and had spent some years in the army in which he finished with the rank of Captain, with tours in Ireland, Kosovo and the Middle East. When his tour of duty expired he decided that was enough, resigned his commission and re-entered Civvy Street, but found many occupations that were open to him were boring and mundane. He did not fancy a desk job, while the police force didn’t appeal, especially as he would be starting at the bottom and be under the command of people several years his junior.
When Fillery had offered him a job he had taken it with some reticence, but discovered that it suited him and he had settled in quite well.
He was roughly six feet in height, was well built and was an individual who could look after himself, being hardened by his years in the army. His fair hair was cropped short, this was one characteristic he had retained from his army days. He had married about four years previously, his wife had also been an officer in the army. She had also resigned her commission and was currently a civilian employed by the Ministry of Defence in their Defence Intelligence Department. That had been another factor that had swayed Seymour when pondering his future, both he and his wife had decided that marriage and the army were not compatible. He was also different from most of Fillery’s organisation in that, coming from an Army family, he spoke with what could best be described as ‘officer’s mode of speech’, where Fillery himself and most of the others spoke with a definite London intonation.
“Seems an open and shut case,” he remarked, as he studied the birth certificate in his hand. “There are probably traces of the family in the area, I see it was registered in Aylesbury, that’s in Buckinghamshire isn’t it?”
“Yes, not too far away, the place where he was born is a small village nearby within the registration district. You’re right, shouldn’t take long,” said Fillery. “When you’ve done that I’ve a couple of other cases lined up. OK?”
“Very well,” responded Seymour as he picked up the file and rose to his feet. “I’ll get cracking on this straight away.”
Seymour departed for Buckinghamshire the next morning. He made good time, turned off the main road and headed for the small village mentioned on the birth certificate as being the address of the Accrington family. The parents were given as Arthur Accrington and Janet neé Havering, and Arthur’s occupation was given as a self employed carpenter. The village of Bishopstone was not far from Aylesbury and Seymour parked opposite the church. There was no specific address on the birth certificate, it just described the place of abode as Bishopstone.
He was undecided as to his first port of call, then decided that the church was as good a place to start as any. He crossed the road, walked up to the gate, and then up the path to the church. He entered the main door, the building appeared to be deserted.
“Good morning, isn’t it a beautiful day?”
Seymour swung around; a man in shirtsleeves had emerged from a doorway behind him holding a brush in one hand and a dust pan in the other. He was a man of about 35, hair sleeked back and parted down the middle, and wearing horn rimmed glasses.
“Oh …er…good morning,” he responded.
“Can I assist you? I am the vicar here, although …” his eyes twinkled “…you couldn’t guess from my mode of dress right now. Have we met before?”
“No.” Seymour shook his head. “I was enquiring about past parishioners to this church.”
“Indeed, are they relatives of yours?”
“Well…?” Seymour hesitated, then salved his conscience with the thought that in a sense they were, inasmuch as he represented Matthew Pelham, who in turn represented John Accrington. “Yes, it’s a family connection I am trying to chase up.”
“Ah! You’re pursuing family history?”
“I …well … yes.” again Seymour reconciled himself to the fact that family history was precisely what he was pursuing.
“What is the name you are researching, maybe I know of the family.”
“There are two families involved, Accrington and Havering.”
“Accrington and Havering,” the other pursed his lips and inclined his head to one side. “Neither of them seem to ring a bell, when were they living here?”
“We had lost track of them, they were certainly living here in 1924,” said Seymour, by this time feeling much more confident.
“1924 indeed,” said the other. “That’s well before my time, I’ve only been here for three years. Accrington or Havering, no I can’t say I’ve heard of either of them. What were they, were they farming stock, tradesmen, professional people, carpenters, tilers, any idea?”
“He was a self employed carpenter, presumably in these parts that means an agricultural self employed carpenter,” said Seymour.
“We can have a look in the register, I’ve nothing else to do except cleaning up some of the mess from the weekend - you’ve no idea what the children throw down during the service, they think the church is just one big dustbin. I’m going to make an announcement about it next Sunday. I’ve been saddled with the job as my cleaner is in hospital. Will that assist you?”
“Yes, I think it will, thank you very much.”
“Good. My name is Tampion, James Tampion, who are you?”
“Rex,” answered Seymour. “Rex Seymour.”
“Oh, not Accrington? Are you directly related.?”
“No, indirectly, a collateral line,” answered Seymour. He was quite pleased with that answer. His cousin Mark was investigating the Seymour family, convinced
