Goosey Goosey Gander

by Frank Edwards

  “And the time?” he pressed.

  “As I say, I’ve been thinking over that again and again since this came to light. You know, despite what I said earlier, all I can really say, if you’re thinking of witness box evidence, is that it would have been in the vase in the vestry around nine thirty. To get from the tree to that vestry, walking along the top, is no more than a few minutes. Maitland and I didn’t hurry ourselves and I doubt if we took more than five. But, coming back along the bank face, on a slope? Not so easy.”

  “Was Galina’s dress soiled? Earth covered? Disarrayed, even?”

  “Because of struggling along the side of the embankment in a hurry? No. Sorry. I don’t recall anything like that about her. She had light-coloured trousers and a fawn jacket; I’d have been sure to notice. Nor was she out of breath. So far as I can recall. I was the one panting a bit as I had intended to be there by quarter past.”

  Hole needed to put this before Davis after a re-examination with Maitland of what he had seen and been told. He asked Annie to prepare a written brief on the Rose Tree for him to take in next morning. Things were, at last, beginning to fall into place.

  Chapter Twenty Five

  t’s Galina then! An all stations call to London? Bring her in with no more delay?”

  Detective Chief Superintendent Davis was almost sad. Was this the end of the puzzle? Ah well, there would be another along soon enough, no doubt. He should never regret the closing of a case, but he had enjoyed this one. It was neat. A group of possibles to choose from. A classic English village whodunnit. Pity it was turning out to be so obvious. What other conclusion could there be? He was almost pleased, although he made sure he didn’t show it, when Hole said:

  “I’d rather wait. Difficult place to find some one. London. I believe she’ll come back home under her own steam soon enough. There’s no reason for her to be alarmed.”

  “Unless she already has been. Are you sure you played the ‘let’s look at your gun’ ploy delicately enough? What about that cove Reed? Would he warn her off?”

  “Off what? She can hardly go on the run without admitting guilt, and I’m not sure myself that our case is that secure.”

  “Now you tell me!”

  “Look at it this way, sir. On the face of it there’s no problem. Galina stands to gain. By the sound of it, all that land is as good as in her hands. If nothing else, she can feel that she’s righted the unbalanced and sexist nature of her father’s Will. Then, she was trained to shoot by her father. More, she has plenty of space – ask, it seems, her observant sister-in-law – to practise her target skills in her grounds, with no one getting to see or hear her. Add to that, she knew the layout of the wetlands reserve, enough to know where her brother would be and, if only from his talk to the luncheon club, his general pattern of movements.”

  Maitland couldn’t wait to join in.

  “Of anybody, she would be the last to stand out in the reserve. She was known to be supporting Alan Tewkes – they knew it was her money that paid for the feed – and she had visited at least twice that we know of. Had the volunteer ladies seen her going or returning, they wouldn’t have been surprised.”

  “At that hour of the day?”

  “It was a fine day, sir. Could tempt people up early. There weren’t any others as fine in that week.”

  “So you did get some met info?” said Hole.

  “Some. I’ll admit, though, I don’t think it’ll be much use. A cloudy day could have acted as a camouflage.”

  “Yet Den Bracegirt saw her”, put in Davis.

  “Because it was a fine day.”

  “Saw someone, sir. No clue as to who. Unfortunately,” put in Hole. “It could have been her. We can positively place her at the scene in the second case. More or less at the very graveside when Den was killed.”

  “How about walking along the bank?” asked Davis. “A boy, the train driver said, but a woman? Possible?

  “Possible. Though, if she was collecting greenery, she had a wonderful cover. No need to scramble down or along the embankment. Annie said that her clothes were clean.”

  “She’d have had to slip down a bit, sirs both, to throw the gun into the train.”

  “Why, then, Maitland, get rid of it at all? She must have had some way of hiding it from view as she made her way to the Warburtons’ grave. A large basket? A trug, is it called? Easy to hide a gun under piles of cuttings. Having used it twice, and being of a cool disposition, why not hang on to it in case of future need? And don’t give me that stuff again about her being too clever to commit a third. She wouldn’t know who else had heard Den boasting of what he had seen and, for all she knew, begun to put two and two together.”

  “On the other hand, expecting to find your wife waiting for her when she got back to the church, she got rid of the gun then and there when the opportunity presented itself.”

  “I grant you that possibility, sir. But I still have my doubts. Her car would be there. Dump it in the boot easy enough. Annie would have been down in the vestry.”

  “If anyone”, continued Davis, “if anyone was open to blackmail by Den it would be Galina Foxley. Stinking rich by all accounts. If Den wasn’t too greedy he might have thought he had found the goose that laid the golden eggs.” His two juniors inwardly groaned. Hole spoke quickly, to pre-empt a pantomime reference.

  “The question remains, where did she keep that gun, taking it that it was hers?”

  “Or her husband’s. We didn’t ask about that when we checked her gun cabinet,” confessed Maitland.

  “Why not?” This from Davis.

  “Didn’t want to alarm her, sir,” Hole replied, aware that there were grounds for criticism in the topic. He pressed on.

  “If she is the one, and both killings arose directly from her wish to get hold of that land, what does she want the land for? And,” he gave neither time to respond, “I don’t believe for one moment that it was to continue the reserve. If that was her intention, she would have let her brother get on with running it while remaining the financial backer. No. There’s more to it than that. Did you, sir,” he asked, seemingly inconsequentially, “get anything on that companion of hers?”

  “Yes. Official enough. Sorry. She may yet have some hidden role to play in this story, but so far as she herself goes, she is here legally. Her work permit and all the rest are in correct order. Hungarian. One of us, now.”

  “I bet she has got some hidden role, as you put it.”

  “Smuggling, sirs? Illegal immigrants? Drugs? Guns? Guns – now there’s a thought! Nice stretch of unsupervised coast. Small yachts slipping in and out with the tide. Wonderful!”

  “Not impossible, if they or it are being brought over from Ireland.”

  “Or Devon!” Davis had to add. “I doubt it, somehow. Wrong side of the country for sensible smuggling, though we can’t dismiss the reported illegal immigrant route through Cherbourg and Rosslare. Yet, a bit too public, in truth. An estuary is neither an open seaboard, nor a secluded cove.”

  Maitland was a bit crushed. If his Inspector could fancify about Reed popping over on Eurostar to commit murder, he didn’t feel that his idea was all that out of the way. But, for the moment he didn’t press his hypothesis.

  There was a pause, as though all three men realised that they were not getting to any firm conclusion. Hole led again.

  “Biggest problem I can see is still that gun. The Harrier. We can’t tie Galina Foxley, or anyone else for that matter, to it. Used twice to kill and then thrown, somewhat carelessly it could be argued, onto a passing train. What if the train had not been passing? What then? Tuck it in the bushes, to be found by kids playing on the bank? Throw it into the grave? Take it back to the car remains my best bet. Whatever, something is wrong about that gun. No trace of any registered owner I suppose?” Davis shook his head.

  “Speaking of the gun, how did Thornley strike you when you went to see him?”

  “Perfectly open. I sensed no hesitation. No covering u
p. He certainly didn’t want, still doesn’t want, the wetlands reserve to flourish. Would far rather it reverted to its historical use as a wildfowler’s shoot. I just can’t see him killing to achieve that, whatever his regret. Yes, the sport is deep in his roots and all that, but I believe that he’s moved with the times. He is nostalgic for the old days. Who wouldn’t be? Yet he senses the mood. The modern generation would, by a very large majority, prefer to have a bird reserve than a bird killing ground. Quoted Councillor White at me almost with approbation.”

  “If not him, any other possibility remaining? Can we still make something of Reed? His interest in the land may not yet be at an end.” Nor was Davis’ wish for the puzzle to go on a little longer.

  “Pushing it now. No. I am convinced that we’ve got to make a breakthrough on that gun. Where did it come from and who last owned it? That’s the question.”

  “The trawl through the records will go on. What of you two?”

  “We’ve got those RSPB ladies to see. Plus Mrs Farmer. The first two are only in connection with Reed’s visits, so I’m putting them last. I want to recheck Farmer’s story of the morning of Tewkes’ killing. I can go over his wife’s version under the guise of asking about Reed. She said that she didn’t understand hubby’s reason for going out so early of a morning ‘to see his sheep proper’ as she put it. That’s number two. Our first priority at the moment, while we wait for Mrs Foxley’s return, is to get a fuller statement from Ma Olive. We can’t go on Mrs Carmichael’s chatter, though using her report as a starting point should help us get the old lady to open up. She may well have the vital link locked away in her memory, without realising it.”

  “Then, sir,” chimed in Maitland, “Thornley might come up with something more on that Harrier. He told Inspector Hole he had some recollection of seeing one. I bet that even now he’s turning it over in his mind.”

  “If he gets anything, he’ll let us know. So, sir, we’ll be off on our travels again. Pity it’s only a third-class coach we’re starting with.”

  As they rose to leave, the phone on Davis’ desk rang. He answered. He signalled to the two to stay where they were. He put his hand over the mouthpiece.

  “Right on cue”

  They sat down again, intrigued. The mystery did not last long.

  “Mr Thornley. How good of you to ring. You are quite right. I am in overall charge of the case but, as you know, DI Hole is heading the investigation. He is with me now so you can go ahead. Or speak to him if you prefer.”

  It is never easy listening to only one side of a conversation, and the two junior officers got the impression that their senior was playing games, trying to keep the topic from them throughout the exchanges.

  “Indeed! Now that is most interesting. And you say that’s certain.” Mumble.

  “Go on. Quite an extensive set up, then, you believe.” Mumble.

  “If that’s so, do you know of any other contacts? Business contacts I mean.” Mumble.

  “If you could that would be most kind. Yes. Thank you. I’m sure he will. Yes. Good. Right. Then thanks again. I shall certainly let him know. Goodbye.” Davis had on his face the same satisfied smile that had been there when he had told them of the Transport Police’s find.

  “Well, well! That truly is interesting,” he said, tauntingly, to his most obviously interested audience. “Most interesting indeed.” Neither gave him a lead. He stopped his charade.

  “Thornley. Right on cue, as I said. Remembered where he had seen a Harrier. Not a thousand miles from his home. Indeed, in the hands of James Foxley no less. The one and only late Mr Foxley of Fox Lea.”

  Both still waited as more was clearly on its way.

  “You may or may not know that the late Mr F was in the arms trade. Guns and bigger. World wide. Seems he asked DeLacey Thornley if he would like to act as an advisor on small arms, especially shotguns. Very lucrative offer. Thornley, then a councillor, refused. But he was shown a Harrier by Foxley and asked his opinion of it. He gave it, but, he stressed, free, gratis and for nothing. Quite relieved, I think, when F popped his clogs after a night out in some overseas centre of entertainment excellence.”

  Hole had to speak. “So it was Foxley’s gun?”

  He wasn’t too keen to open up that subject, having skirted around possible stricture earlier on, but needs must.

  “Can’t say if that actual one was. But we can now direct the records search to a more exact end. If he showed it openly to Thornley, sample or not, it must have formed part of some legitimate consignment brought into this country. Thornley asks that you call and see him. He’ll put together a short report for us, and will do his best to add anything else you might want to know.”

  “I want to know what Galina Foxley knows about the gun.”

  “All stations call to London?”

  “Still no. All the more so. Let her come back. She will. You’ll see. We have quite a few questions to put to that good lady.”

  “Bring her in for that examination? Formal atmosphere and official surroundings can be helpful in getting people to talk.”

  Hole pondered this.

  “Do you mind if I say ‘no’ again? For the initial interview at least. If we feel that there is something there, then of course we’ll apply all the formalities and pressures. I would like to get at her first where she thinks she is safe. In her own home. Might just catch her off guard.”

  “Very well. You can hone your examination skills on Thornley and then Ma Olive. I take it that is the new order of precedence.”

  “That’s for sure.”

  This time the two policemen did get on their way. They were greeted at The Grange, warmly, by a dogless Thornley.

  “Come in. Glad you’re so keen to learn what I have recalled. Knew I’d seen one of those things somewhere. It’s been some time since. Why, Foxley’s been dead a while, and it was well before that. Not long after he first came here. Before he married. He was some years older than her, of course. Quite a few, I would say. But money helps the path of true love, what? Anyway, where was I? Oh yes. Foxley was a pushy sort of a chap. These high pressure salesmen usually are. Especially if they sail near to the wind, eh? Bet he did. Dirty business. Someone’s got to do it, I suppose. If we don’t sell the damn things then the Frogs or some other country will. And get the jobs that go with it. Still. A shady old business this arms selling. I wasn’t having anything to do with it, I can tell you.”

  “But you did advise him on the Harrier.”

  “Brought it with him. ‘First of many’, he said. Seemed he had ideas of flooding, ‘cornering’ was his term, the home supply of shotguns and the like. No more than a ruse, if you ask me, to mask what he was really about. As I say, I wasn’t having any part of it.”

  “Did he leave that Harrier with you?”

  “Not damned likely. I told him what to do with it. Correctly”, he hurriedly added as he saw the smile appearing on the sergeant’s face. “Told him where he might find a market for it. Nationally. Warned him that I would carry on supporting local firms.”

  “Was he a shot himself, sir. Mr Foxley?” asked Maitland.

  “D’you know, I think he was. Not with me. With the old Duke’s group, still active then. All that sport killed off since by that sentimental ass Alan Tewkes. But I mustn’t start on that or you’ll be after me once more. Still. That was a group to enjoy I do know. Fine teas or better at Wickton after each bag. With old Ma Olive ruling the roost. Yes. I think Foxley got in with them. His wife – widow – she might be able to tell you more though, as I say, it was really before her time so far as I can recall. Mortlemann tried to carry on the tradition when he bought the place. Some of the old group took up his offer. Foxley was possibly one of them. Maybe that’s how he met Galina. Better ask her. As I say, I saw a Harrier that once. Haven’t seen one since, so he didn’t have much luck with his sales hereabout.” That thought obviously gave him satisfaction. Hole duly took possession of the notes that Thornley had prepared.

/>   “Been as accurate with my dates and so on as I can. But some years now. Some years. They were good days.” Risking further reminiscences of shooting over the old Duke’s land and, no doubt, his heirloom guns, Hole picked up on the one mention that surprised him.

  “Ma Olive, you say? At Wickton?”

  “Didn’t you know? Thought every one did. Housekeeper there. For years. By the end she was doing almost everything for the old boy. Broke her heart to see the end of the line, and the end of that life.”

  “No, I didn’t know.”

  “Time passes so. Yet doesn’t seem longer ago than last week that the land was bought by Mortlemann. Ma Olive never went back, so I’m told. Ask Bessie Farmer. She was there for the last year or two as a sort of house-parlourmaid.”

  ’Who else?’ mused Hole.

  “What about Bracegirt? Was he at Wickton as well.”

  “Dear me no. Where are your detective skills! No. So far as I can recall, until Ma left with the death of the Duke, he was living in one of those old cottages at the bottom end of the estate. You know? The ones that were knocked down when they widened the main road. Mortlemann made a nice little packet from that compulsory purchase.”

  Hole made no further comment. He didn’t want his lack of local knowledge yet further exposed. What he did decide was to move Mrs Farmer up his list of visits, and to call there on his way to Ma Olive’s. He thanked Thornley for all his help, told him that they had other interviews pressing, and assured him that if, after reading, there were still uncertainties, he would call again. By appointment.

  Thornley looked suitably pleased.

  Chapter Twenty Six

  essie Farmer was in. As was her husband.

  “Just having a cup of tea. Enough in the pot for you two. Come and join us.” They did. The informal setting suited Hole’s purpose. The offer of a slice of fruit cake suited the needs of Maitland. He knew he could eat it in peace. This interview was for his boss alone.