Death at the WI

by Oster, C. G.

  “Mr. Hartman?” Dory said as she stepped out of the car.

  “That’s right,” he replied, his voice laced with suspicion.

  “Constable Worthing has some questions for you. Do you by chance have a cup of coffee you could offer him? He’s feeling a little under the weather.”

  “He’s drunk, you mean?” the man said dismissively. Clearly this wasn’t the first time Worthing had been drunk when he shouldn’t be.

  Dory’s smile was tight, but the man relented and led them to a kitchen door where a woman stood with her arms crossed. Her face wasn’t particularly welcoming either. Dory could perhaps see why Penelope didn’t have the best impression of Mr. Hartman.

  The kitchen was small with a very low ceiling. The table had a red tablecloth. “We don’t have any sugar,” the woman said and she went to warm water on the stove.

  “That’s alright,” Worthing said with a smile.

  They sat down and Mr. Hartman sat back with his arms crossed, watching them.

  “Les, can you tell me about your argument with Henry Wallis?” Worthing said.

  “Who’s she?” Mr. Hartman said, indicating to Dory.

  “She is assisting,” was all Worthing said, without going into any details. For a moment, it looked as though Hartman was going to stubbornly refuse to talk.

  “There was no argument,” he finally said bluntly.

  “An argument has been reported between yourself and Henry Wallis shortly before Edith Wallis was found dead. You have to see why this question needs asking.” In all, Worthing wasn’t terrible at his job when he finally got down to asking questions.

  The large man chewed on his lip for a moment as if considering what to say.

  “Tell them,” the woman urged.

  “Tommy Wallis got our son killed.”

  “How do you know?” Worthing asked.

  “He wrote to us and said that Tommy was making stupid decisions and it was putting them all at risk.”

  “What kind of decisions?”

  The man shrugged. For a moment his eyes grew glossy. The pain was so close under the surface.

  “They should know,” the woman stated. “Running around acting like their son was so innocent. He’s the reason our Freddy is dead.”

  “And Edith?” Worthing said.

  “That had nothing to do with us,” Mr. Hartman said.

  “In light of those strong words, some people are talking.”

  “Let them talk. It’s nothing to do with us.”

  “What did you want from Henry Wallis?” Dory asked and the man’s attention shifted to her as if he’d forgotten she was there.

  “To acknowledge what Tommy had done.”

  “What are the details of how they died?”

  “They’ve told us very little, but they were entering a building where the enemy lay in wait. They shouldn’t have been there. They were never supposed to enter that building, so why did they? Because Tommy insisted, that’s why.”

  “They walk around telling people Tommy was an angel, but he wasn’t. He caused this,” Mrs. Hartman said.

  “And what did Henry say?” Worthing asked.

  “Nothing. Pretended he didn’t know any of it. Kept saying the past is in the past.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Mrs. Hartman said. “Our Freddy is gone and it’s just in the past? Bastard.”

  It was more than clear that grief drove these two, and it was as raw now as it had been, Dory guessed. Whatever the Wallises said or didn’t wouldn’t change it.

  “And when was the last time you saw Edith Wallis?” Dory asked. A cup of coffee was offered to her, but she declined, while Worthing accepted his.

  There was silence for a moment, then Mr. Hartman shrugged. “It must have been in the village some time ago. I have no reason to go see her.”

  “You haven’t been to her house?”

  “No.”

  Dory turned her eyes to Mrs. Hartman who wiped her hands on a tea towel. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t look evasive either. “Weeks ago,” she finally said. “We don’t socialize.”

  “Did you before the war?” Dory pressed.

  “Not really.”

  “If you’re looking for who killed her, it won’t serve you to look here. Maybe ask that husband of hers,” Mr. Hartman said. His tone was dismissive, which told Dory that they’d gotten as much out of them as they would.

  "Do you know of someone who held things against her?”

  Mr. Hartman shrugged and his wife didn’t say anything. “Like I said,” he finally replied, “we don’t get involved with their business.”

  “Because we need to know, please tell us where you were the day she died,” Worthing said.

  “And what day was that?” Most likely he was being facetious. Really, what were the chances they didn’t know? News like that traveled like wildfire in a village like this.

  “The fourth, not long before noon.”

  “Here, like we are most days. We have a farm to run. Doesn’t run without us.”

  “You were both here?”

  “Yes,” he said and Mrs. Hartman nodded her affirmation.

  “Did you have any visitors that day?”

  “No. No visits,” he said with his arms crossed again.

  “Thank you for your time,” Worthing said and rose. With a quick smile, Dory followed. The Hartmans didn’t follow them out, and Dory got in the driver's side, even as Worthing seemed more sober now.

  “Well, you’ll have something to put in your report now,” she said, herself thinking through the answers they’d gotten.

  “What do you think?” Worthing asked. “They definitely didn’t like the Wallises and they’re making no bones about it.”

  “No,” Dory confirmed. “But why hurt Edith when he was there arguing with Henry?”

  “Perhaps he was too scared to take Henry on?”

  “So he goes for the Wallis that can’t defend herself?” Dory said. It didn’t sit right. “Mr. Hartman is a large man. I think if he wanted to fight Henry Wallis, he would have. Can you see him coming back to get Edith at a later date?”

  “It’s possible,” Worthing said. “The rage building and biting away, and he finally decided to act on it, but Henry wasn’t there, so he went for the other party he blamed.”

  They drove away and Dory still churned it over. “It sounded like they wanted acknowledgement, but they didn’t get it.” Was this motive for murder? Yes, it could be. Still, in her gut she hadn’t gotten that intuition that they were guilty. They were just too... unapologetic. “What we could do is to see if their assertions are true. Has there been any contact between them, other than this one confrontation we know about? Have either of the Hartmans been to the Wallis’ house, or visa versa? “If it turns out that anything of what they just told us was a lie, then that probably means something.”

  “Even if there was no other communication between them, it doesn’t mean that Mr. Hartman didn’t whack her on the head.”

  “Or Mrs. Hartman,” Dory added. The injury was of the nature that brute strength wasn’t necessary. It was a hard knock, but either of them could have achieved it. They were both healthy, strong individuals.

  Chapter 21

  THE WEATHER TURNED foul the next few days and Dory stayed inside. It gave her time to turn over some of the things they’d heard so far. Penelope thought Mr. Hartman was an awful man, and having met him, Dory could see how he might not be endearing. But Penelope had also said she didn’t believe he’d be capable of murdering. However, murderers often turned out to surprise the people around them.

  There was nothing to prove either of the Hartmans had done it. If they had visited and the murder had been unintentional to start with, then they would have parked their auto in front of the house. At the farmhouse, she’d seen a battered Morris six van that would be recognizable. If it had been planned, they wouldn’t have been so conspicuous.

  Could she see either of them planning a murder? N
o, not really. More likely, the intention had been a confrontation, which had spuriously turned into a murder. They could establish if their van had been seen in the village on the day of the murder, or on the days around it. Constable Worthing could make those enquiries. Dory would have a conversation about it when the rain let up. Actually, she could call him. And really, someone needed to check on the man, as he was floundering.

  Going into the hall, she rang the operator and was asked to be put through to the Beaconsfield Constabulary.

  The telephone rang for a while on the other side and kept ringing. Either he wasn’t in the station, or he wasn’t answering. Considering the trouble Constable Worthing seemed capable of getting himself into, this had her worried—which was ridiculous. A hefty conclusion to jump to simply because he didn’t answer the telephone.

  Replacing the telephone receiver, she went to the salon and listened to the wireless for a while. Maybe she should write to Lady Pettifer about what she’d learnt, but then told herself off for wishing to write her about every single thing. It wasn’t as if Lady Pettifer could have any material impact on the investigation, but the urge was driven more from missing her.

  It could be said that she had her own little grief about losing a friendship that was so treasured. Not losing permanently like a death, but her marriage meant the friendship had to change, had to become more distant. All this, she’d known, but she did feel the loss. Maybe it was a large part of the restlessness she’d told herself she wasn’t feeling.

  Unable to sit and do nothing any further, Dory decided to walk to the police station and deliver her observation in person, primarily because it gave her an excuse to get out of the house. Donning her coat, she left the house and unfurled her umbrella. It was terrible weather for being outside, but Dory enjoyed escaping the house for a while.

  The square was deserted when she reached it and she saw that the black painted door to the police station was closed. In front of it stood a glass bottle of milk, which suggested he hadn’t arrived at work at all.

  Turning around, Dory searched for someone who could possibly give her an answer, but there was no one there. How had he not arrived all day? A bad feeling crept into her. This wasn’t right. A weekday like this, he should be there, unless he was out investigating, but his vehicle stood in its usual spot. She couldn’t think of a reason he would leave and not take the auto.

  Unsure what else to do, she went to the grocer and asked Mr. Duwart if he’d seen Constable Worthing that morning, which he hadn’t. “He was at the pub last night,” Mr. Duwart said with a sniff, leaning casually on the counter. “Didn’t go myself, but I heard.”

  “I suspect there is little that goes on in this village without you knowing about it.”

  “Well, there’s a lot of newcomers like yourself. They keep themselves to themselves.”

  “There are some who don’t like the influx,” she said.

  He didn’t say anything, but shrugged slightly as if he couldn’t argue.

  “What about Edith Wallis? Someone really didn’t like her.”

  Mr. Duwart shifted his head to the side. “No one around here. Maybe one of the newcomers.” It showed he had no idea who it was. Is that what the village gossips said, that it was one of the newcomers? It was possible. People tended to look to the foreign and unknown for the source of crime.

  “Why would they kill Edith? What about Mr. Hartman? He’s been seen arguing with Mr. Wallis not long before.”

  “There’s been bad blood between them for a long time, and now the loss of both Tommy and Freddy. Recriminations fly.”

  “Do you think he would be capable of it?”

  “Farmers view life and death differently. They are surrounded by it day in and day out. It doesn’t bother them the same way it does others.”

  “Had you seen his van around town?”

  “He drops into the pub every now and then.”

  “So you think he could have been around?”

  “Not so I noticed. Is he capable of killing if he needed to? Yes, I can’t see him failing to act if he needed to, but Edith Wallis was no threat to him, or anyone. Unlike some, he isn’t liberal with his fists.”

  “Are there men here who are?”

  “I think Mr. Myers, but he’s calmed down in his older years. I think he fears being in the care of his wife. Honestly if anyone were to get murdered in this village, I would assume it’s him, but his wife’s put up with him for years. It builds up, though. Women reach the end of their tolerance.”

  “Have you ever heard of Henry Wallis being violent?”

  “Can’t say I have. Henry’s always treated Edith well. Now he seems to be taking up with Miss Middlesmore. Must be her dreams come true. Never wanted to be a spinster. Nice lady. Those two will rub along nicely, I reckon.”

  “So you don’t know anyone who would hurt Mrs. Wallis?”

  Again he shrugged and shook his head. “Nothing I’ve heard, although she seemed to retreat from many of her friends. She changed during the war.”

  “With the death of her son,” Dory filled in.

  “I reckon it happened before then.”

  Dory felt tingles across her skin, because this was significant. “What makes you say that?”

  “She used to be chatty whenever she came in, but all of a sudden, she barely said boo to anyone.”

  “And you reckon this happened before Tommy Wallis died.”

  “I swear it. We all heard when the news came. Everyone in the village knew when a telegram came. A literal omen of death. There was a period when they seemed to come thick and fast.”

  “So it could be the general malaise she was responding to.”

  “Again, she was a farmers’ wife. They were used to the cycle of life. I reckon something had disturbed her.”

  “Do you think Henry Wallis could have been straying?”

  "Not Henry. There are men with wandering eyes, and men without. His never has. A man of comfort more than adventure, if you know what I mean.”

  It went along with what everyone else was saying. “There is something about all this that is hidden,” she said more to herself, but he nodded.

  “Aye,” he said. “Although nothing like this ever happened in the village before the newcomers came.”

  “Really? I thought you said there were feuds going back centuries.”

  Her challenge upset him a bit, but she was a customer and those were valuable to him. “As you say,” he finished with a modicum of distaste.

  “Do you know where I can find Constable Worthing?”

  “Down the lane to the left, then the white cottage with black trim. It comes as part of the posting. Been a policeman’s cottage since long before I was born.”

  “Thank you for your assistance, and your insight,” she said and smiled. It really had been useful, particularly his observation that Edith had withdrawn before her son’s death. It meant that there was something else, something that had upset her, and so far, there had been no indication what it was.

  With renewed urgency, she rushed down the lane. This had to be explored.

  Surely Constable Worthing had spoken to Mr. Turner, who seemed to be at the center of the village gossip. Saying that, he didn’t seem to know what had upset Edith. Perhaps Henry Wallis knew. Someone had to know if it resulted in such a distinct change in behavior.

  The cottage was adorable, but it didn’t seem to suit Constable Worthing’s personality. An iron knocker was attached to the door, and Dory struck it three times and waited. For a while, there was no noise, then a crash and swearing. This couldn’t be good, Dory conceded. “Constable Worthing?” she called, when he didn’t open the door as expected.

  Chapter 22

  WORTHING LOOKED DISHEVELED when he opened the door, as if he’d dressed hurriedly. “Mrs. Ridley,” he said and a scent of stale alcohol reached her.

  “It’s close to midday,” she said sternly.

  “Is it?” he said, checking a watch that wasn’t on his
wrist. “Blast. I’ll just be a minute.” He disappeared into the cottage, and Dory stood waiting for him with her arms crossed. She was disappointed and angry with him, because this was now a consistent habit. He knew he needed to do better, but he kept on doing the wrong things.

  Inside the door, she could see that it was a bit of a mess inside. Well, the man’s life and habits were a mess. How could she expect his domicile to be anything different?

  But he also suffered with internal wounds and she needed to show him a bit of sympathy. That he was flailing wasn’t in doubt, but he just couldn’t pull himself together. What use was it in telling him he needed to?

  When he returned, he looked somewhat smarter, with combed hair and his shirt properly tucked in. There was still a bit of a whiff of the night before on his breath, the kind even a good scrub couldn’t clear away.

  “There has been a development,” she said.

  “And what is that?”

  “I spoke to Mr. Duwart, the grocer, and he said that Edith Wallis’ low and withdrawn mood started before the news of her son’s death arrived. Not long, but it did. Everyone assumed it was a consequence of her son’s death, but he stated quite clearly that it started before the news arrived.”

  “It could just be that she had a few off days, and then the news arrived,” he said.

  “Or it could mean something happened, something that made her withdraw from her community.”

  “It wouldn’t have been a run-in with Mr. Hartman because he wasn’t aware of his son’s death. Or had his news come beforehand?”

  Dory shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps we can ask at the post office. And by we, I mean you, because that is your job and you must report on your progress by the end of the week.” The coloring on his face meant he felt admonished and Dory felt a little ungenerous. “The drinking …" she started.

  “I know, but it stills everything.”

  “But you are doing yourself more harm in the long run.”

  “I can’t sleep, Mrs. Ridley. It’s an issue of some peace with a hangover, or no peace at all.”