Unhappy Returns

by Elizabeth Lemarchand

  ‘They’ve no bloody right to keep me here, they haven’t,’ he said furiously, his normally careful speech going to the winds. ‘How the hell was I to know the stuff that bleeder offered me’d been pinched? Sent for my solicitor, I ’ave.’

  Pollard sat down facing him. Toye took another chair. There was a brief silence.

  ‘You’re a fool, Aldridge,’ Pollard remarked dispassionately. ‘Can’t you see that it’s in your own interest to prove beyond doubt that you were taking in stuff in that quarry not long before you turned up at your shop just in time for the Snip delivery on the afternoon of November the nineteenth? You’d come the long way round from Marchester, hadn’t you, in case you were noticed driving past the turning into the village on the way to the quarry?’

  George Aldridge gaped and stared, his little black eyes seeming to recede into his white pasty face.

  ‘Inspector Toye and I couldn’t care less about your commercial activities,’ Pollard went on. ‘Our business —’ he leant forward and spoke slowly and deliberately — ‘is to find out in the first place who killed Ethel Ridd that afternoon. If you can prove that you were late getting home from Marchester because you came the long way round to meet a chap in that quarry, well, you couldn’t have been the killer, could you? We have a witness that the Snip van arrived just after you, and that when it left again at a quarter to four you put your own van away in your yard and shut the door.’

  George Aldridge gave a strangled yelp and gripped the edge of the table.

  ‘So now you’re trying to fix Ridd’s murder on me too, are you? I tell you I can prove I was up to the quarry before I got ’ome. Ask ’im — the bastard that’s been selling me stolen stuff, an’ cases o’ whisky with bottles short. Ask Redshaw. ’E went by in ’is car, and saw me an’ the van. Came into the Stores the next day, gave me a wink, blast ’im, sayin’ ’e wouldn’t give a pal away. Police can find ’im in New York, can’t they, if they want to? Or was it ’im that grassed on me after all?’

  The agitated appeal faded into a dead silence. As Pollard surfaced voices were audible in the corridor, and Inspector Frost came in to inform George Aldridge that his solicitor had arrived.

  Pollard and Toye extricated themselves and made for their own quarters. Sinking on to a chair, Pollard took out a handkerchief and mopped his brow.

  ‘Redshaw,’ he said at last. ‘So he’d have got home soon after half past two, not at five o’clock.’

  ‘Not at five o’clock,’ Toye echoed, ‘just as the ruddy church clock was striking.’

  ‘What in hell have we missed out on? But I’ll tell you one thing, Toye. Whatever it is, the urgent thing now is to find out for sure if Redshaw really has gone to New York and when he’s expected back. If he suddenly turns up and hears what’s happened to Aldridge, what price a third murder after all? Aldridge will be bailed, of course… Pyrford right away, don’t you think?’

  While on the now familiar road they decided to make a preliminary call at the Rectory.

  ‘Even if Hoyle doesn’t know when Redshaw’s due back here,’ Pollard said, ‘he’ll be able to put us in touch with whatever domestic help they do have, who is sure to know more or less.’

  In reply to their ring the door was flung open so swiftly that a caller had obviously been expected. Robert Hoyle looked momentarily astonished.

  ‘Do come in,’ he said, leading the way to his study. ‘As a matter of fact I’m expecting Inspector Frost. He rang to say that he’d be looking in. Sit down, won’t you? I expect you’ve heard about this latest trouble of ours, right on the heels of poor little Rosemary Gillard’s affair yesterday.’

  ‘If it’s the George Aldridge business, yes, we do know about it,’ Pollard told him. ‘We happened to be at the Westbridge police station when they brought him in with the other chap. We’d like to say how sorry we are about this run of disasters, padre, especially for you personally.’

  ‘That’s kind of you. Life does seem a bit much at the moment, Aldridge being my senior churchwarden. I suppose there’s no doubt that he’s been involved with this stolen goods racket?’

  ‘Absolutely none, I should think. He was caught red-handed. Of course he’ll swear he didn’t know the stuff had been pinched, but I shouldn’t think he’ll get away with it.’

  Robert Hoyle groaned.

  ‘The awful part is that quite a lot of people in the parish will be quite pleased about it in a thoroughly uncharitable way. He’s not at all liked, you know. Always throwing his weight about. I can’t see how he can go on being churchwarden… However, I mustn’t inflict my troubles on you: you’ve plenty of problems of your own. Can I be of any use?’

  ‘We just called in to ask if you knew when Mr Redshaw will be getting back,’ Pollard replied. ‘We want to check a point of timing with him, and hear he’s gone to New York. To be honest we didn’t want to spend time getting involved with Mrs Redshaw.’

  For a moment Robert Hoyle looked amused and less careworn.

  ‘You’d have been quite safe: she went off with him early yesterday morning. He’s attending some literary dinner over there, and they thought they might have a short holiday while they were about it, possibly flying down to Florida for a few days. Wouldn’t it be terrific to be able to whisk one’s wife off for a break like that?’ he added wistfully.

  ‘Terrific,’ Pollard agreed. ‘I’d like to do it right now. So there’s no firm date for their return?’

  ‘Not as far as I know. I expect they’ll let their daily woman know. She’s a Mrs Tucker: her cottage is the first on the right down Church Lane.’

  Feeling relieved at the Redshaws’ absence, Pollard kept the conversation going for a few minutes before thanking Robert Hoyle and saying that they must push on.

  ‘That’s a bit of luck,’ he remarked to Toye when the Rectory door had closed behind them. ‘Redshaw being out of the way before Aldridge was pulled in, I mean. It’s most unlikely to get into any English paper that he’ll see. But I’m contacting the Yard at once. The FBI must be asked to keep an eye on him, and let us know at once if he makes a sudden break for home.’

  ‘Don’t you think the business of Rosemary Gillard and the notes may get quite a bit of press coverage?’ Toye asked.

  ‘It’s possible, but I don’t for a moment think that would bring him back. Too late to bump her off now.’

  They drove into the village and parked by the call box in which Pollard was incarcerated for some time. He finally emerged to report that things were under control, and asked what was happening at the shop.

  ‘Business is brisk,’ Toye reported. ‘Mrs Aldridge seems to be coping all right.’

  ‘Do you know, I wouldn’t be surprised if she doesn’t see a chance of cutting loose from him… We’d better make for that farm where Redshaw said he collected a couple of ambrosial ducks on the way back from Marchester. The time should fit in with when he passed Aldridge at the quarry.’

  Reference to the file and an ordnance map located Breakacres Farm at about a mile north of the turning to North Pyrford.

  ‘Let’s work out times,’ Pollard said. ‘Martha Rook said Aldridge drove into Pyrford at “turned ten to three”. He had to start back from the quarry about twenty to three, I should think. If Redshaw collected the ducks not long before half past two, it would fit. Let’s go.’

  ‘Do you think Mrs Redshaw was lying about the time he got home?’ Toye asked, as they emerged on to the main road and headed north.

  ‘I don’t know. I didn’t think so when we saw her. She’s the vague, woolly sort, of course. What’s more puzzling is why Martha Rook didn’t see him coming in just before Aldridge, and did at five. What did he do with his car in the meantime? I suppose she could have made a mistake. We’d better see her again.’

  Breakacres Farm was located without difficulty. A board outside a gate announced that poultry, cream and free range eggs were obtainable. The gate opened on to a farm track, the house itself being some distance from the main road. Toye c
ommented unfavourably, and negotiated the track with care. As the Hillman approached the cluster of farm buildings an assortment of dogs materialised noisily, bringing an elderly woman in a bright flowered overall to a door. The older generation of farmer’s wife, Pollard thought, noting the straight grey hair swept back into a bun, the thick woollen stockings and stout low-heeled shoes, and contrasting her with Margaret Gillard. The dogs subsided, and he got out of the car.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ he said pleasantly. ‘A friend of mine, Mr Redshaw of Pyrford, told me your ducks are simply delicious. I wonder if I could have one?’

  The woman looked distressed.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, but I haven’t a single bird ready dressed. Tell the truth, we don’t reckon to get casual customers this time of year: only our regulars.’

  Pollard expressed disappointment.

  ‘I ought to have rung you, Mrs —?’

  ‘Darch, sir.’

  ‘Mrs Darch. I expect Mr Redshaw did last week?’

  ‘That’s right, sir. He rang the Tuesday morning, and said he’d come the long way round from Marchester Wednesday, and pick ’em up. So I put a couple of lovely birds down in the box by the gate before dinner, to save him coming all the way up here. They has an account, you see — pays monthly.’

  After admiring the farmhouse, and assuring Mrs Darch that he would order in advance on his next visit to the area, Pollard returned to the car.

  ‘No joy,’ he reported. ‘The ducks were dumped in that mail box down by the gate at dinner time for Redshaw to pick up. I think we’d better run over to Marchester, and ask diem to help find out what he really did after coming out of the Chapter House.’

  Toye drew up at the gate and enquired which route they should take.

  ‘Which will get us there soonest?’

  ‘Back past Pyrford. It’s a bit longer from here, but a much faster road.’

  ‘OK. Past Pyrford, then. How I’m beginning to hate the sight of the place.’

  Traffic was light, and Toye kept up a steady fifty until obliged to reduce speed on the outskirts of the village.

  ‘Can you beat it?’ he exclaimed indignantly. ‘There’s that ruddy bus holding everybody up again! Why didn’t the chap turn the thing when he got back this morning, same as yesterday?’

  He braked as the school bus waited for a north-bound lorry before emerging from the gateway into which it had backed. As it set off on its afternoon run to Westbridge, Toye let in the clutch and the Hillman began to move.

  ‘Stop!’ Pollard shouted. ‘Pull into the layby.’

  Toye hastily complied and turned to him in astonishment.

  ‘Do you see what I see now the bloody bus has gone?’ Pollard demanded. ‘That open gate’s the end of a lane. It doesn’t lead into a field at all.’

  The next moment they were out of the car, the training of years compelling Toye to pause to lock it before following on. The lane was narrow and rough, rising fairly steeply and bearing right. They walked round the curve and found themselves confronting the palatial garage of the Old Rectory which they had admired from above. Beyond it a branch of the drive ran up steeply to join the main approach to the house. For a moment they were silent.

  ‘I see how it was done now,’ Pollard said. ‘Redshaw came on here, perhaps dawdling for the last bit till the main road was clear and he could turn up this lane unnoticed, and leave his car out of sight at the bend. Then he went through the garden at the back of the house, and up through the woods to Ambercombe on foot. He could easily have got to the vicarage by half past three, and found it was still open. He went in and waited. Perhaps he meant to strangle Ridd, and then changed his mind when he noticed that loose brick in the kitchen. Having done the job he came back the same way, and backed the car in neutral down to the road. There was a risk in starting up the engine so near the Pyrford Garage: it might have attracted attention. In his place I think I’d have waited for a passing car to drown the sound. All he had to do then was to drive carefully round the corner into Martha Rook’s field of vision, and turn left for home. He took colossal risks, but one’s got to remember that he had to improvise the entire plan between Ethel Ridd’s exit from the Chapter House, and one o’clock when the court rose… Bit of luck for us that you decided to take this road, old man.’

  He lifted an eyebrow at Toye who promptly disclaimed any credit, saying that it was spotting the lane and seeing what it added up to that had brought home the bacon.

  ‘What it hasn’t brought home, unfortunately, is why Redshaw had to murder the hiker in the first place,’ Pollard reminded him. ‘Obviously the chap was such a threat to him that he couldn’t see any other way out. The next job is digging into Redshaw’s past. We’ll go up tonight and get a Yard team going on it, taking the P-M report and all the bits and pieces. Back to Westbridge first, though, to put them in the picture.’

  Chapter 12

  On Pollard and Toye’s return to Westbridge there was a hastily convened conference with the Chief Constable, Superintendent Canning and Inspector Frost. Pollard’s account of the day’s events created a minor sensation.

  ‘I’d stake my pension that Redshaw committed both murders,’ he concluded, ‘but of course we’re not even within shouting distance of bringing a charge.’

  ‘I suppose the hiker chap unwisely tried to blackmail him,’ Colonel Greenaway commented.

  ‘It looks very like it, Colonel. The first job is to delve into Redshaw’s background and past history, and that’s the sort of thing the Yard’s geared to. I’ve already rung my AC’s office and asked them to get cracking on it. We’ll hand over all the hiker’s stuff to the forensic department as soon as we get up there tonight. Meanwhile, can you handle some of the local enquiries at this end? How did the fellow get to North Pyrford, for instance?’

  ‘Can do, can’t we Canning? We’ll contact all neighbouring forces. You might let us have a copy of the P-M report for any of the chap’s physical characteristics.’

  ‘Then there’s the question of Redshaw’s movements on June the eleventh last year,’ Pollard went on. ‘Enquiries about those are going to be dicey, but it would be a start to know for sure that he was at home at the time.’

  ‘What beats me is the chap’s sheer nerve,’ Inspector Frost said suddenly. ‘Going off to the States as large as life the very morning after your broadcast, Mr Pollard.’

  ‘A certain amount of calculation there, don’t you think? No doubt he’d talked a lot about this dinner, and to cry off suddenly would have surprised people locally. And it suggests that he’s completely confident that the link between the hiker and himself can never be traced. Well, we’ve got to prove him wrong, that’s all.’

  ‘There’s this problem of Aldridge,’ Colonel Greenaway said. ‘I think you’re right about his being at risk if Redshaw turns up and finds that this stolen goods business has come out, and Aldridge could mention seeing him pass the quarry. Difficult to know what to do. Aldridge is sure to get bail when he comes up before the Bench, and we can’t stop him going home.’

  ‘May I come in here, sir?’ Frost asked. ‘I’ve been over to see his wife, and it’s a rum set up. All that I could get out of her was that she knew nothing whatever about the shop bar the Post Office work, and that she shouldn’t think he’d want to show his face in Pyrford again.’

  ‘It sounds as though she’s known all along what he’s been up to, and been scared stiff and had enough. Well, we can only wait and see what he does. You said you’d asked the Yard to contact the FBI, didn’t you, Pollard? Let us know if the Redshaws suddenly head for home… I expect you want to be off, don’t you, if you’re calling in on Bosworth at Marchester before you get your train?’

  There was little time to spare, and Toye did the run to Marchester at an exhilarating speed. As always, being in action raised Pollard’s spirits. At any rate, he thought, watching the headlights rip up the darkness, we’re on the right track at long last, whatever we run up against.

  Superintend
ent Bosworth, chagrined by his men’s failure to trace George Aldridge’s departure from the city on 19 November, was initially a little distant. He thawed, however, on being given a full account of developments up to date and getting a further request for help. He jotted down Hugh Redshaw’s alleged movements on leaving the Consistory Court and shook his head.

  ‘Pack of lies,’ he said. ‘It may take a bit of time to clear up, seeing we’ll have to use indirect methods, but I’ve got a chap who’s a real dab at getting information out of people without their noticing. We’ll keep in touch by phone. Your number and extension? Thanks, Inspector… Run you to the station, shall we?’

  Ten minutes later the London train began to pull out.

  ‘Quite a day,’ Pollard remarked, settling in a corner of an empty compartment. ‘Let’s close down pro tem and get some sleep.’

  A few minutes later he looked across to see Toye already neatly and composedly sleeping, but his own mind remained obstinately active. From long experience he knew that the only thing to do on these occasions was to let one’s thoughts drift. He found himself as it were standing back, and viewing the case with objective interest. It had presented odd features from the start, being a curious blend of the commonplace and the fantastic: a crude brutal assault on an elderly woman interwoven with an almost incredible story of a missing chalice of great value. Not directly involved in the enquiry, but constantly looming in the background, was the figure of that aged eccentric, Barnabas Viney, whose striking face rose up vividly in Pollard’s memory. The whole business of the chalice had been a waste of time, but worth it, he told himself defiantly, remembering the moment in the sunshine in Ambercombe churchyard when he had first held the precious thing in his hands. Not the reaction of a responsible CID Super, perhaps, but that was how one felt… There had followed a sequence of unexpected events: Rosemary Gillard’s attempted suicide, the discovery of the body in the quarry pool, George Aldridge’s unconscious revelation that Hugh Redshaw had returned to Pyrford early enough on the afternoon of 19 November to murder Ethel Ridd, and finally the fortuitous discovery of the way in which he could have concealed the real time of his return … all … through … that … damn … bus … moving … out…