The Valentine Murder

by Evelyn James

  Mr Dundle still muttered to himself and huffed and puffed.

  “It’s the principal, what if my other customers know I am letting a stranger look into their accounts?”

  “I am only looking at Mr Spinner’s and if this is important, then I shall hand it over to the police and no one can criticise you, for an honest man must assist the police.”

  Mr Dundle puttered, then he groaned.

  “Oh, very well, then. But you won’t be bringing the police with you?”

  “No,” Clara promised.

  “When do you want to see them?”

  Clara knew he was not going to like her answer.

  “Right now.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Runcorn House was another quaint old place that looked typical of the English countryside. A little rundown at the edges, but in a way that added to its charms rather than detracted. Tommy could hear music as he drew close and lights were blazing in the lower windows. People were laughing and it appeared there was a party going on. He knocked loudly and hoped he would be heard. It was only moments before a tipsy young lady opened the door and staggered into his arms.

  “Oh dear!” She laughed into his face, the sweet smell of wine on her breath. “I appear to have fallen.”

  Tommy righted her to her feet, though the way she wobbled suggested she might not stay that way for long. The alarming thing was the young lady was drunk before six in the evening.

  “Are you Miss Bright?” Tommy asked.

  “I am!” Miss Bright chuckled. “Isn’t that delightful?”

  She swayed backwards perilously, and Tommy made a grab for her arm before she fell back to the floor.

  “Maybe we should go somewhere you can sit down?” He suggested, ushering her towards the room where he heard the music.

  “That would be terribly nice!” Miss Bright giggled.

  The front room was where the party had gathered, though the participants only seemed to consist of a young man and another lady, this one of such a similar appearance to Miss Bright, though younger, that she must be her sister.

  “Who is this?” The young man asked with a surly look at Tommy.

  He grabbed Miss Bright from Tommy’s grasp with a proprietorial air.

  “I am Tommy Fitzgerald. Miss Bright collapsed into my arms on the doorstep,” Tommy told him. “She ought to sit down.”

  “Did we invite you?” The younger version of Miss Bright blinked at him with a dull look that suggested she too was tight.

  “No. I am here about Miss Bright’s car. I believe it was involved in an accident.”

  “That’s true!” Miss Bright cried out, slurring slightly. “It was terrible, terrible.”

  “It’s why we are drinking in the afternoon,” the younger sister told him. “This is our wake for a dead dog.”

  She took a spare glass from the sideboard and poured out wine before passing it to Tommy.

  “You will join us in a toast?”

  Tommy felt as if the trio was a little crazy. He could understand being upset about a dog you had run over but getting drunk by six in the afternoon over it and hosting a party in its name took things a little far. Tommy played along, nonetheless.

  “Naturally I shall join the toast,” he wondered how many such toasts there had been already.

  “To the dog!” The young man declared, his eyes welling with tears. “Fate was cruel to you, poor beast, sending you before our wheels. May you run in heaven with the angels!”

  “To the dog!” Declared the respective Miss Brights and Tommy raised his glass along with them.

  The senior Miss Bright then burst into tears.

  “Come now, old thing,” her young man consoled her. “You didn’t mean to kill it.”

  “It ran straight out before the car,” she wept as she spoke to Tommy. “I couldn’t stop in time. There was a dreadful thud. And, you know, there has been all this talk about black hell hounds roaming near Spinner’s Farm and I was right on the lane behind his fields! I started to think all sorts of crazy things.”

  “There, there, old girl, you were in shock,” the young man patted her hand.

  “Hector got out of the car to take a look,” Miss Bright continued. “He was so very brave.”

  She cast a smile at Hector as if he had walked across quicksand to save her. Tommy guessed Hector was a few years short of having had the opportunity to serve in the war, where he would have discovered that bravery was not merely about checking to see if a dog was dead. He knew he was being a touch unkind to the youth as he thought this, but the whole weird party was playing on his nerves.

  “The dog was dead?” He asked.

  “Sadly, yes,” Hector finally spoke to him. “Poor thing was walloped in the head, nothing to be done.”

  “Why did you carry it all the way to Spinner’s Farm?” Tommy asked him.

  Hector gave him a look that suggested he thought Tommy was the crazy one.

  “I carried it nowhere,” he said. “A woman came over the hedge just as I was wondering what to do. She stopped and stared at me and the dog. I asked her if the dog was hers, she didn’t answer me, but she came forward and said she would take the dog. I told her the animal was pretty heavy, but she didn’t seem to be listening. She grabbed it up in her arms like a sack of flour and went back over the hedge.”

  “I would have paid her for the dog,” Miss Bright sobbed. “If only I had had the chance.”

  “What did this woman look like?” Tommy asked Hector, who seemed the most in control of his marbles at that moment.

  He shrugged.

  “She was older than me, but not so old. She wore a dress and had her hair tied back. She went back up to Spinner’s Farm. I guess she had come from there.”

  “I am so dreadfully sorry. I would like to tell her so.”

  “Only, the dog was not hers,” Tommy replied. “The dog belonged to Squire Piers. It had escaped the night you ran it down.”

  “Oh no!” Miss Bright clasped her face in her hands, only her eyes visible through her fingers. “He must be devastated.”

  “He is,” Tommy said, his annoyance abating as he saw the genuine grief in Miss Bright’s eyes. “I would like to tell him what happened to his dog. He is desperate to know. With your permission?”

  “You need not do that, I shall go see him myself, it is the least I can do,” Miss Bright gave a great sniff, choking back more tears. “First thing tomorrow, I shall call upon him.”

  Tommy was satisfied that she would and that they could offer him no further information. The mysterious woman who had taken the dog, reminded him of the mysterious woman seen talking to Mr Beech. They now had two anonymous women at the centre of this case. Tommy decided it was time to regroup with Clara. He bid farewell to the Brights and Hector, leaving his wineglass on a sideboard as he departed. No one had noticed, until he left, that the gramophone had ceased to play. Now a new record was put on and blared out loudly. The wake would be continuing for some time, it seemed.

  ~~~*~~~

  Mr Dundle, fortunately, did not live far from Clara and she arrived within an hour of the telephone conversation. A worried looking gentleman responded to her knock on his door. He was a few years older than her, with the sort of soft appearance that gives the impression of a man made from unbaked dough. He looked as though he spent a little too much time indoors and did not get the sunshine he needed, but then it was the middle of winter and perhaps the fellow would go brown as a nut the second spring came.

  “You must be Miss Fitzgerald?” He said in a voice that suggested he really hoped she was not.

  “And you are Mr Dundle?”

  “Come in,” Mr Dundle shuffled out of her way and allowed her into the house, before motioning to a back room. “This is my office. Most of my work I do by going to farms and speaking to the farmers about their needs. They are busy men and don’t have the time to come to me.”

  He had already taken out the relevant ledgers from his shelves and set them o
n his desk. He had even bookmarked the correct pages that Clara would need to see. He was a man who liked order and efficiency, that was plain.

  “These are the payments for the tractor that Mr Spinner failed to keep up,” Mr Dundle showed her the first ledger. The page was divided into various columns and a running total had been kept of the payments. “He made the first five, then he stopped. I sent him two warning letters before I made the decision to take back the tractor. The worst of it was it had been damaged during the course of those five months and I had to sell it on at a loss to myself.”

  “What of the other items?”

  “He purchased them just three months after buying the tractor. At the time he was paying promptly, and I was not concerned about adding the other machines to his debt. I was told he had a prosperous farm.”

  “It was prosperous, once,” Clara agreed. “Until Spinner tried to run it.”

  Mr Dundle gave a heavy sigh.

  “I have this nasty feeling I am going to have more damaged items to reclaim and try to sell on at a loss.”

  “That is very likely,” Clara could only answer honestly.

  “Can you show me where Mrs Spinner started bringing you payments instead of her husband?”

  Mr Dundle opened the second ledge and indicated the appropriate column.

  “She would pay me weekly, instead of monthly, that suited her better. I had no complaint for over a year, then, this last week, she missed the payment. I haven’t pursued the matter as yet, seeing there has been that trouble at the farm.”

  “I have a feeling you won’t be seeing that money, Mr Dundle,” Clara scanned down the page. She was calculating the amount Mrs Spinner had paid towards the items. “Am I right in saying she has paid you a total of £365 for those three items?”

  “Yes, excluding the first couple of months. The full cost is £875 5s 6d, which includes the fee for the gentleman who installed the milking machine.”

  “That is a lot of money.”

  “Mechanisation doesn’t come cheap,” Mr Dundle sounded defensive. “But the big farms need to be competitive. Mr Spinner wanted the best products too, he wouldn’t go for the budget ones.”

  Clara wondered what thought process had gone through Spinner’s mind when he had placed himself so heavily into debt. He must have assumed he would be able to pay for these things, had he simply failed to appreciate his own budget?

  “I need to take this ledger,” Clara said to Mr Dundle. “I need to show it to the police.”

  “Why?” Mr Dundle looked worried. “It doesn’t tell you anything, other than that Mrs Spinner was paying me.”

  “You see, Mr Dundle, Mr Beech was loaning money to someone. He stripped his savings for them. This did not happen overnight, and I would like to see if the withdrawals from his bank account tie up with the days Mrs Spinner brought you money.”

  Mr Dundle’s eyes widened.

  “This has something to do with that dead man?”

  “It does,” Clara confirmed.

  Mr Dundle stared at his books and a grimace crossed his face.

  “A dead man’s money has paid for these goods.”

  “And when Mr Beech no longer had money to give…” Clara paused; she did not want to finish that thought aloud. Had Mrs Spinner argued with Mr Beech over money and his refusal to loan her more and she had killed him? It had a worrying logic to it.

  “I need to take your ledgers,” Clara said to Mr Dundle firmly. “I need to deliver them to the police. If you wish to come with me, naturally you are welcome.”

  Mr Dundle was glum, many doom-laden thoughts running through his head. Not least, would he have to repay the money Mrs Spinner had already given him if it was not really from her? It was not that he failed to appreciate a terrible crime had been committed, it was just he found himself thinking how he might be affected and the consequences to his business.

  “I regret ever meeting Mr Spinner,” he said solemnly. “Everything looked so promising at first. Dare I say I was a little gleeful at his proposed business? I saw a man who liked modern machines and seemed to have money. I was counting my coin before I had earned it. Now see what has come of my greed.”

  “You are being a little harsh on yourself,” Clara said to him kindly. “Can I take the ledgers?”

  Mr Dundle nodded his head.

  “You know what has just crossed my mind? If the Spinners could kill a harmless old man, then might they have killed me if I had tried to take my machinery back?”

  He shuddered.

  “I’m right glad those labourers were in the yard when I went to collect the tractor, right glad.”

  As he seemed uninclined to move, Clara reached forward and closed the ledgers herself, then stacked them into a pile to carry away.

  “I hope to not keep them for long. Once the police have the information they need, I can return them.”

  Mr Dundle was silent. She rose to leave.

  “Thank you, Mr Dundle.”

  He gave a murmur, the words indecipherable. She left him in peace, to mull over his association with potential murderers.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Clara walked to the police station, the cold night wrapping around her. The clouds had finally cleared, and she could see a crisp moon overhead, glowing vividly. Was it on such nights that Mr Beech had been afraid to go outside? Afraid the ghosts and demons would be at their most potent? She was not superstitious, and it was hard to imagine how the old man had lived his life believing in such things. Then again, after what she had heard of his family history, she could see why he had been worried by things that went bump in the night.

  As she approached the police station a car was pulling up to the pavement and she recognised it.

  “Tommy!” Clara waved.

  Jones had been sent with the car to collect Tommy from Hove. Now her brother jumped out of the car and raced to her.

  “I am pretty sure I know who did it!” Tommy said.

  “Murdered Mr Beech?”

  “No, moved Betty’s body to the Spinner’s farmhouse. The big question is why would she do it?”

  “She?” Clara widened her eyes. “Are you talking about Mrs Spinner?”

  Tommy nodded his head.

  “I think we better speak to the Inspector about all this,” Clara added.

  They headed into the station and asked the desk sergeant if they could see the inspector. He didn’t even hesitate but motioned for them to head upstairs.

  “Did you see anyone from Scotland Yard about Hangleton?” Clara asked Tommy as they went up.

  “No, but I was probably in the wrong place to see them.”

  “We need to solve this before they do. Can’t have London policemen making our local boys look fools,” Clara said resolutely.

  “What are those books under your arm?” Tommy asked.

  “Motive,” Clara replied

  They knocked at the door of the inspector’s office and were summoned inside. Park-Coombs looked up a little surprised that Clara had returned so soon.

  “Is this good news?” He asked cautiously.

  “I hope so,” Clara placed Mr Dundle’s ledgers on his desk. “I think I know where the money from Mr Beech’s account went, or at least some of it. Mr Spinner overextended himself buying farming machinery and a tractor from Mr Dundle. He could not keep up the repayments on the tractor, which Mr Dundle went and retrieved, much to the embarrassment of the Spinners. Spinner then fell behind on his payments for the remaining equipment and Mr Dundle wrote to him, explaining if the money was not paid, he would have to take back those items too.

  “Shortly after, Mrs Spinner turned up at Dundle’s office with cash to make the payments. He has never seen Mr Spinner since, but his wife comes weekly to make payments. I think Mrs Spinner borrowed the money off William Beech to pay Mr Dundle.”

  Clara opened the ledgers and showed the inspector the relevant payments.

  “Can you compare the dates of these payments to those when Mr
Beech withdrew money from his bank?”

  Park-Coombs rubbed at his chin, studying the numbers, then he opened a draw and produced some papers.

  “I had to send all my evidence off to the Scotland Yard detectives, but I kept my own copies,” he said. “Just in case.”

  He put his notes beside the ledgers and began to compare them. Clara, reading upside down, could see that the dates tallied, and the amounts Mr Beech withdrew were always the same. However, not all the money was going to pay Mr Dundle.

  “This is promising,” Park-Coombs said at last. “William Beech withdraws money and the same day Mrs Spinner pays Mr Dundle in cash. But it is far from conclusive, and it does not account for all the money he withdrew.”

  “There is more,” Tommy interjected. “I am not sure how it all fits in, but I discovered who ran down the black dog later found at Spinner’s farm. Curiously, the dog’s body was retrieved by a woman who carried it back up to the farm. The driver of the car assumed the woman was the owner of the dog. Now the Spinners do not have a dog, and the only woman at the farm is Mrs Spinner. The description they gave of the woman was vague, but it could have been her.”

  “Why?” Inspector Park-Coombs frowned. “The action makes no sense.”

  “I think it is time we spoke to Mr and Mrs Spinner,” Clara suggested. “Confront them with this evidence. Spinner is looking less and less likely to have been involved in the killing, but his wife has been acting very curiously.”

  Park-Coombs nodded his head.

  “I think it is all we can do. The evidence has led us this far, now we need to rely on a little bit of luck. Let’s go.”

  They headed out together and joined Jones in the car.

  “Sorry, old man,” Tommy said to the driver, “but we need to return to Spinner’s Farm.”

  Jones stifled his groan at this news, then did a neat turn in the road and headed back the way he had just come.

  ~~~*~~~

  “This better be good. I was about to have my supper.”