At this point Toye reappeared.
‘Get in,’ Pollard said urgently. ‘I’ve been hit by an idea — mainly yours rehashed.’
Toye listened carefully while it was expounded.
‘I’d like to try coming in and going out to see how much row you’d have to make,’ he said.
‘O.K.,’ Pollard agreed. ‘While you’re doing some trial runs I’ll ask her if she heard a car come in shortly before Alix was dropped, and once again about cars in the night, although she told Rendell she hadn’t heard any. And while I’m there, I’ll see if I can find out if there was any difficulty in getting Gilmore to exhibit “Flight into Egypt”.’
He went on ahead and found Katharine Ridley busy in her garden.
‘I’m sorry to keep turning up, Mrs Ridley,’ he said, smiling at her. ‘There are just two bits of information I think you might be able to give me.’
‘Don’t apologise,’ she said, driving a fork into the ground and coming towards him. ‘I only hope I can tell you whatever it is. Shall we sit on this seat, or would you rather go indoors?’
‘The seat would be fine,’ he said. ‘I get far too much indoors in London.’
When they were settled he came straight to the point, sensing that she was completely at her ease with him.
‘I don’t want to revive unhappy memories,’ he told her, ‘but could you just think back to the Saturday night when Alix was at the party and you were alone here? You were in bed, weren’t you, and probably drowsy? Can you remember hearing another car go past shortly before Mr Gilmore’s arrived bringing Alix home?’
Katharine Ridley shook her head decisively.
‘If there was one,’ she said, ‘I didn’t hear it consciously. After she had gone I was awake for some time, trying to decide what to do. Before I came to any conclusion I must have dropped off, because the slamming of a car door woke me, and I could hear her and Malcolm Gilmore and Francis Peck saying goodnight. I looked at my bedside clock which has a luminous dial, and it was just on half past ten... What is that car doing at this moment just out on the road?’
‘I’m afraid that’s Inspector Toye carrying out a small experiment. He won’t be long. Would you have heard a car starting up like that later in the night, do you think? It was a noisy windy night, apparently.’
‘I only know I didn’t hear one. Whether that means there wasn’t one, or that there was and I slept through it, I just can’t say.’
‘Fair enough,’ Pollard agreed. ‘Now one more thing. It’s about how you and Mr Rossiter got together the exhibits for “Pictures for Pleasure”. I expect you drew up a plan of campaign, and either advertised or circularised likely lenders?’
‘We were a bit more informal than that,’ Katharine Ridley said. ‘Actually the balloon went up at another of the Gilmores’ parties, before I’d even had time to tell Hugo Rossiter that the HOB local committee wanted us to put on the show. People started ragging the Gilmores about their pictures and saying which we ought to have, and Lady Boyd-Calthrop stumped round in her inimitable way, laying down the law. I remember she said that we must have the “Flight into Egypt” for one, as religious pictures lent tone to an exhibition. Malcolm protested and said it was a ghastly daub by his great-uncle, but I backed her up for a quiet life, and so we had it. Thank heaven it has turned up again. After this Hugo and I drew up a list of people we thought would have reasonable pictures, and other people got to hear about it and offered to lend things. Some were quite frightful, of course, and we had to be tactful.’
‘Thank you,’ Pollard said. ‘That’s all very clear. Now I’ll be off, and leave you to garden in peace.’
‘One minute before you go,’ Katharine Ridley said. ‘I do want to thank you for all your understanding and kindness. And for helping me to come to terms with the Kit Peck-Alix situation, which I’m quite sure hasn’t escaped your notice. Over the past two years I’ve been plotting and scheming frantically to stop it. Then somehow — I can’t explain how — Geoffrey Parr’s turning up made me see that I was making the same mistake that we did over Helen. Not realising how much the world had changed in Alix’s lifetime, I mean. And then Kit came to see me, and I really felt rather ashamed. He’s so good and wise for his age, and won’t hear of a formal engagement until she’s had her year in Canada.’
‘It’s good of you to tell me this,’ Pollard said. ‘I appreciate it very much. It’s moments like this which make being a policeman bearable.’
He got up and held out his hand to her. As he went out to join Toye he thought regretfully of the distress which the solution of his case was bound to cause her.
Toye was waiting in the Rover. ‘No go,’ he said. ‘Even in this bus you have to change down to get into the drive, and there isn’t enough slope to keep you moving more than a few yards along the road when you coast out in neutral.’
‘It all made more row than I’d have expected,’ Pollard replied. ‘And anyway, I’m satisfied that Mrs R. didn’t hear a car at either of the times we’re interested in. But I managed to get on to something which throws a bit of light on why Gilmore and Rossiter ever let the genuine painting go to “Pictures for Pleasure”. They seem to have been caught on the hop. According to Mrs Ridley the first they heard of the show was at a party at the Gilmores. That dominating old bird Lady Boyd-Calthrop was there, and proceeded to decide which of their pictures should be sent in. It seems that she specially picked on the “Flight”. I don’t think this is likely to have bothered Gilmore and Rossiter much because they simply must have had another convincing copy — done by Rossiter, presumably — to replace the genuine one when they eventually found a market for it.’
‘Do you think Mrs Gilmore was in on the racket?’ Toye asked.
‘No, I don’t. I may be wrong, but she strikes me as a woman with too much horse sense, apart from any other considerations. Gilmore must have said he was having his great-uncle’s effort cleaned or something when he took it off to Portrova last year.’
‘You’d think with all their careful planning they’d have had the substitute copy ready for “Pictures for Pleasure”. Fancy falling down on that,’ Toye commented critically.
‘Pure guesswork on my part, but I think their scheme came unstuck over the frame. The great-uncle could have had an exact copy of Lecci’s made by an Italian craftsman. Rossiter would have had to scrounge round junk shops and pick something up that he could adapt. I’ve noticed that early-eighteenth-century frames are standardised up to a point. They’re gilded wood as a rule, with repeating patterns: flowers and shells and whatever. And Rossiter’s art shop in Wellchester does framing. But it was a dicey job and finding a suitable old frame could very well have held them up. Rossiter had to put in a lot of time on the hanging, too. I say, let’s go back to Wellchester and have a meal, and then do some thinking. It’s no good just wandering round looking for places where Rossiter could have put his car that night...’
Later, after a satisfying supper, they wrote up their notes and then decided to call it a day. Toye hurried off to the last showing of a Western at a local cinema, a genre of film for which he had a surprising addiction. Pollard set off on an exploratory stroll in the historic centre of the city. After circling the cathedral and studying the statuary on its west front, he left the Close and spent some time on the medieval bridge over the river, now happily closed to motor traffic. He had found in the past that inspiration sometimes dawned when his mind was tranquillised by watching drifting clouds or flowing water, but on this occasion none came. Finally he went back to the hotel, had a drink in the bar and decided on bed, still without a programme for the following day.
He woke to broad daylight, astonished that he had slept solidly through the night and had surfaced to find himself thinking of a witness whom he personally had not seen: the vet Howlett, interviewed by Toye. Lying in bed he wondered why? The chap had been quite definite about not having seen a car on or off the road during his journeys to and from Manor Farm. It might be worth intervi
ewing him again, though. Sometimes a casual question produced a really valuable answer. At this point Pollard’s mind began to visualise the entrance to the track leading to Mill Cottage. The track was rough and partly grass-grown. An electric fence kept in the young Friesian bullocks grazing in the field on the right. The field had hedges on the road and extreme right but was open to the Spire on the river side, beyond Mill Cottage’s walled garden. Useful for watering the stock, Pollard thought, remembering his country childhood. The fag end of a haystack was on the left just inside the gate, with a tarpaulin casually thrown over it. The overall picture was clear enough, but somehow he felt vaguely dissatisfied. He looked at his watch and decided to get up.
Over breakfast Toye agreed that it might be worth seeing Howlett again, and went to the telephone to enquire about his surgery hours. They learnt that he would be on duty between nine and ten o’clock. Pollard looked in at the police station where a quietly triumphant Inspector Rendell informed him that they had already got Gilmore sewn up. It had turned out that a Sergeant Bland was engaged to Gilmore’s secretary. He had taken her out on the previous evening and brought the conversation round to holidays. She had expressed hopes that her boss would take ten days off over the Bank Holiday at the end of May as he had last year, saying it had been a real rest cure for her.
‘According to Bland he’s a right bastard to work for,’ Inspector Rendell added, ‘and been worse than usual just lately.’
Pollard congratulated him on the quick result of his enquiries, and joined Toye in the Rover.
They found the waiting room of Mr Howlett’s surgery crowded with animals and their escorts, but were told by the receptionist that they would be seen when the patient in the consulting room had been dealt with. A wave of hostility from the escorts greeted this statement.
‘Where is your sick animal?’ an indignant woman demanded in a deep voice.
Pollard replied with perfect truth that it had not been possible to bring him.
‘All the animals here are under physical and mental stress,’ the woman boomed. ‘They should have priority.’
A loud cork-extracting pop came from a parrot’s cage swathed in polythene. To Pollard’s immense relief the door of the consulting room opened, and a man emerged with a Pyrenean mountain dog on a lead. Under cover of a hostile demonstration from some of the other patients Pollard and Toye were ushered in.
Pollard liked Mr Howlett on sight. He was young with untidy red hair and a lively intelligent face.
‘I’ll gladly answer any questions I can,’ he replied in answer to Toye’s preamble, ‘but I honestly don’t think I can add anything to what I told you last time.’
Pollard and Toye took him over the ground again.
‘This farm machinery you saw in the field,’ Pollard said, ‘what sort was it?’
‘I took it for one of those small tractors with a glassed-in cabin. You know — high up in front. But there was a tarpaulin chucked over it, and I honestly didn’t look very carefully. You see, I’m a new boy in the practice,’ he added with a grin, ‘and I was hell bent on getting to Manor Farm before the cow passed out.’
‘We gather that mother and child are doing well,’ Pollard said. He asked a few more questions, and then deciding that nothing was to be gained by prolonging the interview, he departed with Toye after thanking Mr Howlett for seeing them so promptly.
When they were in the car Toye looked at him interrogatively.
‘Fairlynch yet again,’ he replied. ‘You know, there’s something that doesn’t fit in in all this but I can’t put my finger on it. Perhaps being on the spot will dredge it up from my subconscious.’
As they drove once more through Spireford Toye commented on the dustbins and bags of rubbish outside the cottage doors.
‘Some villages only get a collection once a month I’m told,’ he said. ‘Unhygienic, I call it.’
They drew up at the white gate leading to Mill Cottage. Just inside were two dustbins, and a pile of stout cardboard containers of the type used by wholesalers for dispatching groceries to their retailing outlets. Pollard suddenly sat bolt upright.
‘Do you see what I see?’ he demanded. ‘High up in front, Howlett said. Half a dozen of these stacked on the roof of Rossiter’s car over the front seat and that tarpaulin chucked over them...’
‘Reckon you’re spot on,’ Toye said with the gruffness of genuine admiration.
Pollard was aware of ideas flooding through his mind. ‘Of course it’s all wrong,’ he said excitedly. ‘I’ve got there at last. This is a water meadow.’
Toye invited him to come again.
‘A water meadow’s low-lying grassland by a river, with the water table — the saturation level — very near the surface. When the river’s in flood the water seeps up and there are pools on the surface, and the river water often comes over the banks as well, bringing jolly useful fertilising mud. The standard drill is cutting for hay one year and grazing stock the next. Obviously it’s grazing this year, so why a tractor?’
‘Handy place for parking it?’
‘That’s what we’re going to find out. Come on. Hayes at Manor Farm will know who farms this field.’
By a stroke of luck they encountered the farmer a short distance along the road. In response to a signal from Pollard he drew up in his Land rover, got out and came over to them looking wooden and suspicious.
‘Who farms Mill Meadow?’ he repeated in reply to Pollard’s question. ‘Why, I do. It’s Fairlynch land and part of the farm. What’s wrong with that?’
‘Nothing, Mr Hayes. As it’s a water meadow and under grazing, I take it you aren’t using a tractor there this year?’
Pollard got a surprised look.
‘Know about water meadows, do you? Yes, that’s right. I take a crop of hay off it alternate years, see? What’s all this in aid of?’
‘It’s been reported to us that a farm vehicle looking like a tractor was parked there during the night of last Saturday week.’
Mr Hayes’ eyes narrowed.
‘’Tweren’t mine.’
‘Might one of your neighbours have parked one there?’
‘Naw. Doesn’t make sense. Plenty of room at the next farm up the road for theirs, and nobody’s going to come up along here from the far side o’ Spireford. Someone up to no good, maybe?’
‘Keep it under your hat, Mr Hayes, if you don’t mind.’
With a curt nod the farmer returned to his Land rover and drove off in the direction of the village.
‘None of this adds up to proof, you know,’ Pollard said. ‘All the same I think we’ve shot our bolt here for the moment. We’d better head for the Yard to see if Chilmark is pulling off anything. We’ll just look in at the police station and let them know what we’re doing.’
A message was handed to him asking him to ring Mr David Harrow at Fairlynch Manor when he came in.
David Harrow was once more apologetic.
‘I hope I’m not being officious and tiresome,’ he said. ‘I thought perhaps I’d better pass on a call I’ve had from Mr Gilmore this morning. I rang the office yesterday afternoon as you suggested, and got on to a secretary who said she’d put another set of plans into the post at once: no problem at all. Then about ten o’clock this morning Mr Gilmore rang me himself and seemed a bit short, I thought. He asked if the first set had turned up as it wasn’t convenient to let us have a spare. I said it hadn’t, but that I’d send back the second one as soon as it did. Then he rang off pretty abruptly.’
‘Thanks for letting me know about this,’ Pollard said. ‘I’d like you to keep me posted of any further developments. You can get me at this number and extension...’
He went out to report to Toye.
‘If Gilmore’s getting edgy, we may have found a weak spot,’ he said. ‘By the way, the stains on that folder were made by contact with mud and gravel identical with the samples you took outside the front door at Fairlynch.’
On the following morning there
was still no message at the Yard from Professor Chilmark. Pollard brought his Assistant Commissioner up to date on the case. After the latter had underlined the point that most of the evidence was either unsupported or circumstantial or both, there was nothing for it but to retire to his own room and tackle the backlog of work on other cases. This was so extensive that when a call from Milan was put through to him at five o’clock he had to make a rapid mental realignment before taking it.
Professor Chilmark was commendably brief and circumspect.
‘Chilmark here,’ Pollard heard. ‘Mission successfully accomplished. I hope to get the morning plane and be with you at your HQ in the early afternoon, bringing exhibit.’
‘Right,’ he replied with equal circumspection. ‘We’ll be expecting you.’
He leant back in his chair with a mounting sense of excitement, and after a few moments flicked the intercom switch on his desk.
‘Get me Inspector Toye, will you?’ he said.
When Toye appeared Pollard gestured towards a chair.
‘Sit down and listen,’ he said. ‘A call’s just come through from Chilmark. He’s due back at lunchtime tomorrow with Great-uncle Gilmore’s “Flight” in his suitcase. God only knows how he’s done it. The AC is being snooty about unsupported evidence and whatever, and we’ve got to work out a proposition to put to him. I want to see if any of my ideas survive the cold water you always pour on ’em...’
Change For The Worse Page 18
