by Holly Bell
Amanda related the events of the evening, while her grandparents gave every appearance of enjoying their cream teas without a hint of being put off by the description of a murder.
‘Sabotage then,’ said Grandpa, when Amanda ended her narrative.
‘Yes. Someone had bent the screws and, I think, painted acid on the underside of the boards then tried to wash it off with water. The piece I picked up stung my fingers like the hydrochloric acid in the workshop.’ Amanda looked at Senara. ‘You know how Grandpa and I use it very occasionally to make aqua regia for testing the purity of gold?’
‘A builder,’ responded Granny decisively.
‘My first thought was the Reckets,’ agreed Amanda. ‘But I don’t think it’s their MO. Mr Hodster never mentioned them doing anything that could cause a fatality or accident or harm to anyone of any kind. The faults they built into their projects were surely just annoying or potentially expensive things. Yes, the joists were too thin and maybe wood-wormed, but they’d have gone rotten and weak over time, no one would ever have fallen through. And the floor was acid-burned away above a very particular set up: those anvils, that javelin or spear shoved in the middle. No, that just doesn’t fit with cowboy builders.’
‘What about the person in the attic, Ammy?’ suggested Grandpa.
‘I suppose they could have got up there before I arrived, and then pushed the ladder away and pulled up the hatch. But then how would they get down? And when? The police will have been up there. And there was no chance once I arrived. Even when I was in the basement, I would have heard them, and certainly, Tempest would have.’
‘All right, bian. So much for the evidence in your dimension, in your time,’ said Grandpa. ‘What about the things from other times you and Trelawney have seen?’
Amanda thought. ‘The man falling through the floor … except…. now I remember! When I saw him, … at the same time, I thought it was a woman, and then it resolved into the man. The woman … I wonder… could it have been Majolica? Was I seeing the future?’ she asked in alarm.
‘No,’ said Granny decisively, handing a newly materialised plate of slightly different scones to her husband. ‘No one can see the future. Your Aunt Amelia must have told you that. Ask her.’
‘OK,’ acceded Amanda. She observed her grandparents with disbelief. ‘Honestly, I don’t know how you can sit there eating scones at a time like this!’
‘These have candied orange peel in them, bian,’ Grandpa said in an explanatory tone.
‘Very good with marmalade,’ Granny added. ‘It works. You’d be surprised.’
‘And we can eat scones and jam any time we like here,’ Grandpa continued.
‘Yes, it’s jolly good,’ commented Granny.
Amanda shook her head incredulously and gave up. ‘Well, let’s get back to the soldier that fell through. Funny …. his hat … cap … whatever you call it; when I was dancing with the inspector last week, for an instant, he was wearing the identical cap …. And that soldier could see me. I wonder …. could he have seen what happened at the church hall? Who sabotaged it? After all, he was down there. He spoke to me once before. If I could speak to him once more …’
‘You’re going to run into Nikolaides and Baker on that one though, bian, like you did last time, and Hogarth is out of the country, though you could call him.’
‘Yes … I’ve just had a thought. Maybe the Reckets are important in this picture somewhere. Mr Hodster said “Cherchez les notes”, find the Recket papers. I wonder if the backroom boys have made any progress.’
‘There’s a line of enquiry then that you can follow,’ said Grandpa jauntily.
‘I wonder,’ Amanda went on meditatively, ‘if the saboteur was up in the attic, watching to see if the plan was successful. But how did they get down? And ... yes, ... that first time I went into the hall … it was a child’s giggle I heard. Surely one of the school children couldn’t have done such a thing! And yes, I saw two legs: a child’s and a man’s. At least, it was a trousered leg. I guess it could have been a man or a woman. And then tonight, I saw both of those legs again, except the big one looked solid and the little one looked … see-through.’
Her grandparents continued to sip and eat. Amanda continued, ‘There are just so many pieces to this I don’t know where to start. I mean, if I could get back into the hall …’
‘Start with your backroom boys. But, if were you, Ammy love,’ suggested Grandpa. ‘I would go ahead with your plan for the rest of the night, and, on Monday, when you’ve got your overalls on, the next step’ll come to you,’ he added with conviction.
‘Really?’ asked Amanda doubtfully.
‘Yes, have a rest tomorrow. I expect Jane’ll pop in to see you and your Aunt Amelia, too if you let her know. Then ... Monday… you’ll see I’m right.’
Chapter 35
Thomas Does His Thing
Trelawney came back to an empty house. It would be too much to expect his mother to be at home on a Saturday night if her son was out. ‘Good,’ he murmured taking off his shoes. He needed privacy. He sent a text.
Mike. Free to Skype? T
Trelawney made a cup of tea while he waited as patiently as possible for the reply.
On beach. Give me 10. M
Thomas went up to his old room, switched on the desktop computer, and put his thoughts in order.
Finally the Skype alert sounded and the image of Hogarth in his sister’s study sprang onto the screen.
‘Mike, you got back quickly.’
‘Manager’s son just passed his motorbike test. Offered to bring me back up the hill. I put life and limb in his hands for your sake, my lad.’
‘Thank you to both of you.’
‘Now. What’s amiss?’
Thomas related the events and conversations of the evening in all of the detail that his detective’s mind could summon.
‘Well, well,’ remarked Hogarth. ‘Our Amanda does get herself in the middle of the action, doesn’t she? Are you on first name terms, by the way?’
‘Certainly not,’ said Thomas, firmly.
‘Insists on calling you “Inspector”, does she, even when you’re dancing?’
‘Most of the village does too, actually. It’s the sort of place where the doctor is “Doctor” and the rector is ”Rector”, but then they knew me first as the inspector. How, I don’t know.’
‘It’s a village Thomas. You’re a small-town boy, you wouldn’t understand.’
‘You’re right. In Parhayle we have concepts like privacy, even occasionally anonymity if you’re not there too long, and things like strangers, visitors and tourists.’
‘See the difference? Besides which, Amanda has been trained in the art of vigilance, and I’ll bet never lets herself forget for a moment that you’re there to find out what her family of three had to do with the Minibus Murders.’
‘But I’ve already told her that I’m not there to trap her,’ protested Thomas, ‘and, anyway, even if her grandparents were involved, it would have been with the best of motives: to safeguard her from being reclaimed by homicidal relations.’
‘That will help.’
Trelawney let his exasperation show. ‘Every time we have a conversation where it seems that our connection is strengthening, somehow it turns into a cat-and-mouse game.’
‘I think you have to concentrate on your shared past, Thomas. Speaking of the past, is there a connection between the church hall murder and the spy?
‘Well …. Hard to say … possibly,’
‘What does your instinct tell you? Come on, Thomas, do your thing. Is … there … a connection?’
Thomas closed his eyes and saw, as he often did, like the car headlamps in time-lapse photographs, winding trails of light. They were racing beside one another, bending, snaking around and above and below, and, suddenly, in an explosion of white, two collided and crossed.
He opened his eyes and looked at Hogarth’s face on the screen before him.
‘Yes,’
he pronounced without a shadow of a doubt. ‘There is a connection.’
‘Good lad. Now there’s something I need you to do for me.
‘Yes, Mike?’
‘Find out who the Officer in Charge of the church hall case is.’
‘Isn’t it your pal, Chief Inspector …?’
‘My pal is on leave,’ said Hogarth regretfully, ‘according to his auto responder and voice mail. It may mean you have to tread carefully. You are a witness of sorts in this case, but you need to follow your own lines of enquiry for both the cold and warm cases.’
‘I’m seeing my father on Tuesday. I hope to get some background history out of him,’ said Thomas on a positive note.
‘That’s the way to go,’ agreed Hogarth. ‘As for the church hall business, remember: be careful.’
The following day, Trelawney went back to the crime scene, where he saw an old friend from Hendon Police College.
‘Ross?’
‘Thomas? What you doing here, Yokel, in civilized parts? Don’t tell me you’ve transferred.’
‘No, following up a cold case. Are you the Officer in Charge?’ Trelawney asked hopefully.
‘Chance’d be a fine thing. We haven’t all shot up the career ladder like you. No, DI Worsfold is in charge while Chief Inspector Maxwell is on leave, worse luck.’
‘Oh. What’s he like?’ asked Trelawney.
‘A nightmare. Thinks he’s the salt of the earth like Baker. Two differences though. One: Baker really is the salt of the earth, and two, Baker isn’t a twerp.’
‘Doesn’t sound promising.’
‘Don’t know if he’ll welcome your presence, Thomas,’ cautioned Ross.
‘When’s Maxwell back?’
‘Four weeks,’ replied Ross, in the voice of doom.
‘Four weeks?’ exclaimed Trelawney.
‘Yes, and if we don’t solve this case this weekend, don’t expect much movement on it until the old man gets back.’
‘That bad?’
‘Worsfold does get results at times, but it all has to be done his way, he can’t think outside the box and he might just arrest any old suspect to make sure it looks like he’s doing something.’
‘Thanks for the heads-up, Ross.’
‘I’d lay low if I were you. Stick to your cold case.’
‘What if there’s a crossover?’ asked Trelawney.
‘Then I’ll do what I can. Give me your number in case I haven’t got your latest and I’ll keep you posted. On the QT, or Worsfold’ll have my guts for garters.’
They hastily exchanged phone numbers.
‘Thanks, Ross. I’ll make myself scarce for now then.’
Trelawney sent a text and called in at the cottage, where he was welcomed by Amanda and plied with consoling tea.
‘Now, what is it, Inspector? You don’t look a happy bunny.’
He gave her the bad news.
‘Four weeks? The killer could have killed again by then.’
‘That’s not the thing that worries me the most, Miss Cadabra. You and the rector are currently at the top of the suspect list, however unlikely you are to have carried out the sabotage, and this temporary man-in-charge is arrest-happy. We have to do what we can to either clear you both or find out who did this.’
‘Well, I’ve been thinking. The rector talked about going to visit Mr Woodberry, in her spiritual capacity, I think. I’m sure she’d take me with her if I asked her. After all, from what you say, the rector and I are in this together to some extent.’
‘Good idea. That shouldn’t tread on anyone’s toes. I think we need to stay away from the hall. ‘
‘You’ll keep coming to the classes, though won’t you?’ Amanda asked anxiously.
‘Of course. Business as usual. We have a spy to identify. And we can follow any lines of enquiry we can think of, as long as we’re discreet.’
Amanda nodded. ‘Yes, we can talk to people as long as it’s in the ordinary way.’
‘We can’t be seen to be interviewing anyone,’ he warned her.
‘OK. Well, Leo has been wanting to meet for a tea-break and Ryan wants me to go with him to the launch of the new menu at the Snout and Trough. Sandra’s got a new chef. I can sound out what Leo and Ryan have to offer in the way of information. They might have seen or heard something useful.’
‘Good.’
‘Hasn’t Vanessa or Madeleine invited you out yet?’ Amanda asked practically.
‘Actually Vanessa has invited me to the menu launch too. I’d sort of excused myself,’ Trelawney admitted. ‘I didn’t want her to get the wrong impression.’
‘Perfect! You can change your mind. And Madeleine?’
‘Not really. She’s been throwing out hints about various sporting pursuits but I’m really not keen. It would be very difficult to conduct a conversation while engaged in the sorts of things she seems to have in mind.’
‘Yes, she is a bit hearty, jolly hockey sticks. Well, never mind, she isn’t really in the thick of things. Maybe you can just chat before one of the classes.’
‘I’d feel safer doing that,’ owned Trelawney.
‘Feeling hunted?’ Amanda enquired sympathetically. ‘You can always call on me. I promise to rescue you from the local wildlife, if necessary.’
‘You comfort me, Miss Cadabra.’
‘Meanwhile, the church hall affair is going to be the hot topic in the corner shop, the pub and The Big Tease. Gossip won’t be hard to come by.’
‘Right, well, we’ll reconvene here on Saturday, if that’s OK with you?’ suggested Trelawney
‘Yes, after the class. Then we can each do our subtle interviewing at the menu launch on Sunday.’
They shook hands. Trelawney looked worried.
‘I’ll be fine,’ Amanda reassured him.
‘I won’t let Worsfold lock you up, if I can possibly prevent it,’ he promised her.
‘I believe you,’ she said.
Chapter 36
Apport, and Kytto
On Monday, Amanda, dressed in her overalls, headed out with Tempest to the Reiser’s. Come hell or high water, there was still a banister to be polished. Grandpa’s words played in her head. Today she would know the next step.
By lunchtime, Amanda was still in ignorance. She took her food into the garden under the awning next to the house to shelter from the downpour. Hopefully the neighbours would either discouraged by the weather from emerging into their gardens or have gone out for the day. Tempest sat beside her, alternatively looking expectantly at the lunch box and scowling disapprovingly at the rain.
They were finishing up their meal as Amanda began to get cold and felt a sneeze coming on. Quickly she felt in her jacket pockets, customarily stuffed with tissues, but they were empty of anything useful for the occasion. She dived her hands into her overalls and found only a scrap of rag that she pulled out hastily, just in time. There was a flash of gold, and ting! Amanda looked down at her feet to see the forgotten gold thimble she’d found in the crypt that day with the rector, weeks ago. She picked it up before it could roll away.
‘Apport,’ she murmured aloud. ‘Aunt Amelia. I’ve been forgetting to ask her. This is the next step, Tempest,’ Amanda declared. ‘The next step!’
***
‘An apport?’ replied Amelia. ‘Well, an apport is thought by some to be an object that can be in another dimension, that someone there wants you to have, so they find a way of presenting it to you. Why? Where did you hear the word?’
‘The rector said it, and said to ask you what it meant. You see, one day, in the crypt, the rector dropped a set of keys, and it went under a sarcophagus, and, when I got my hand under there to get it out, I also found this.’ Amanda produced the thimble. ‘And the rector thought I was meant to have it.
‘Aha,’ responded Amelia with interest, taking it from Amanda’s palm. ‘It’s a christening thimble, I do believe.’
‘Old, wouldn’t you say?’ asked Amanda.
‘Yes, I would.’
>
‘Something a child could have owned?’ Amanda hazarded.
‘Yes,’ said Amelia.
‘Perhaps a child then was in the crypt. Playing maybe?’
‘Maybe.’
‘It’s just that I heard a child giggle in the hall attic. Then the sound was cut off suddenly, or they suddenly had to be quiet. If it was a past thing, I mean, a person who is in another dimension but who keeps visiting a spot here, for some reason, they might be able to tell me what happened that night,’ said Amanda with growing excitement. ‘Except,’ she continued deflated, ‘I can’t get into the hall. Not for another four weeks, when Uncle Mike’s friend Chief Inspector Maxwell comes back and will let me in.’
‘Perhaps,’ responded Amelia slowly, ‘you don’t have to go to the hall. You have the thimble. If the child meant you to have it, maybe you can find her there.’
‘In the place where I found it? In the crypt?’ asked Amanda, her enthusiasm returning.
‘It’s worth a try.’
‘Yes, and I could ask the rector to let me go down there. She would understand. All right. I will. Tomorrow after work.’
‘But think about how you’re going to dress. You don’t want to alarm the child by looking too outlandish,’ Amelia advised.
‘What sort of period, do you think?’
‘Hard to say. Regency or Victorian perhaps.’
‘OK, I’ve got a maxi skirt somewhere,’ considered Amanda, now in high spirits.
‘Yes, something long will be fine,’ agreed her aunt.
Amanda’s eyes were alight. ‘Tomorrow!’
***
Meanwhile, 400 miles away, a dinner was finishing.
‘You always liked my shepherd’s pie,’ said Kytto Trelawney to his son.
‘Yes, Dad, and I still do. No one makes it like you.’
Kyt stood up to gather the plates. It would have been easy for anyone to see where Thomas got his height. However, his father was a sparer man, and his hair was more salt than pepper now. The lines etched by stress could not entirely conceal the comeliness of face that had struck a young Penelope when she had first seen Kyt back in their university days. Yet, it was for his kindly ways and depth of thought that she had come to love him, those things that she loved most in their son.
