Blood on the Cards

by Chris O'Donoghue

  ‘How do you mean, Sir?’

  ‘Could I buy a pack – just like that?’

  ‘I should imagine so. I don’t think it was especially rare or anything.’ With a sinking heart, Russell could see where this was going.

  ‘Then is it not possible that the card you found could have come from another, similar deck?’

  ‘I suppose so, Sir.’

  ‘So it could be pure coincidence that it was there.’ Another statement. ‘I’m afraid I’m inclined think there’s no connection and that DI Parker is still on the right track.’

  ‘But Sir…’

  ‘Listen, Inspector. I was prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt but you’ve given me no good reason to change my mind.’ He sat up and straightened the papers on his desk. ‘The charge still stands against Boswell. I suggest you get back to investigating the death of the unfortunate man in Dungeness and leave Parker to carry on with his good work. Understand?’

  ‘Yes, Sir. But I’m not happy about it.’

  Colour started rising from Stout’s collar. Russell recognised the signs. The next sentence came out as a growl. ‘You’re not here to be happy – you’re here to do police work. Now get on with it!’

  -0-

  Lewis wore a troubled look. ‘So the Superintendent is prepared to go along with Parker’s deductions?’

  ‘And allow a probably innocent man to stand trial for murder – yes.’ Russell agreed.

  ‘Are you sure there’s nothing we can do?’ Wickstead asked. Russell shrugged and shook his head.

  The three men were sitting in Russell’s compact office. He’d outlined what Stout had said and they’d discussed what options there were. ‘He won’t allow me to be involved so my hands are tied.’

  ‘What about DC Weeks?’ Wickstead asked.

  ‘I’m not sure. Parker has got his faithful sidekick Clyde Barrow back so Johnny will be surplus to requirements.’

  They sat in silence for some moments until Lewis looked up and spoke. ‘Listen. Could you get Weeks to suggest that it would be a good idea to talk to the fairground people? Find out what Boswell was like – how he treated them, that sort of thing. Chances are Parker won’t want the bother of doing the interviews himself and will probably suggest that Weeks does it.’

  Russell rubbed his chin. ‘Hmm. That might be a way to find out more.’ He nodded. ‘Yes, I think it’s worth a try.’

  -0-

  There was a light tap on the door. ‘Come!’ Parker commanded. Then, seeing it was Weeks: ‘Oh, it’s you. I thought you were back with Russell?’

  ‘No, Sir. He doesn’t need me at the moment.’

  ‘Right. And neither do I. I’ve got my own DC here, who at least is capable of following my orders.’ Barrow sat opposite the DI, smirking. ‘So if there’s nothing else, you can bugger off again.’

  ‘There is one thing,’ Weeks said, quietly.

  Parker let out a heartfelt sigh. ‘I suppose you’d better tell me. You’re obviously not leaving until you do.’

  ‘It’s just a suggestion, Sir. I’ve been thinking about how you could make a stronger case against Boswell.’

  ‘Go on then – spit it out.’

  ‘Well, if you were to talk to the people who work in his funfair you might find out if he was unpopular. Perhaps they hold grudges against the man.’

  Parker nodded slowly. ‘It’s a thought, I suppose. Trouble is I’m tied up here with Boswell himself.’ He pulled back a grubby shirt cuff and consulted his watch. ‘He’s due in the interview room shortly.’

  Weeks looked pointedly at Barrow. ‘Perhaps you could send your DC?’

  ‘No, I want him with me.’ Parker’s reply was abrupt.

  ‘I could go – if you like,’ Weeks volunteered.

  ‘I suppose so – if I can trust you not to hash it up.’

  ‘Yes, you can, Sir.’

  ‘All right. And take that wopsie with you again.’

  ‘WPC Sharpe?’

  ‘That’s the one. Those fairground types are bound to like a bit of skirt. Might make them more talkative.’

  ‘Right, Sir.’

  When the DC hesitated, Parker said: ‘Go on then. Get your arse over to Nottery Quay.’

  ‘But the funfair was on the move when we were there earlier.’

  Parker gave a huge sigh. He spoke slowly, as if Weeks was a small child. ‘There might be some stragglers left. If not, find out where they’ve gone and go there.’

  -0-

  ‘Well done, Johnny. I knew you could do it.’ Russell had a huge grin on his face.

  ‘I didn’t think he’d go for it so easily. I was quaking in my boots.’

  ‘Oh I had faith that he would. He’s a lazy sod – anything for an easy life. I wish I was going with you but I don’t think that would be wise, under the current circumstances.’

  -0-

  Weeks stopped the Ford Pilot by the Salts.

  ‘Oh heck,’ Nettie said. ‘They’ve nearly all gone.’

  ‘Just as we’d expected. Look, Boswell’s truck and caravan are still there.’

  ‘That’s strange. I thought if they hadn’t been impounded someone would have driven them on to the next site.’

  The two walked across towards the vehicles. Just a couple of caravans and some part-dismantled stalls stood forlornly in the flattened field. Where dozens of feet had milled around, the grass was bruised and battered. In a number of places it was scorched brown where fires had been lit; in others it was stained black, from oil that had leaked on to it.

  Nettie felt a wave of sadness wash over her; that feeling you get when the fair has left town. Nostalgia for a fleeting and false gaiety. Candyfloss and hamburgers. Eager faces, hoping to win some tacky reward. “Roll up! Roll up! A prize every time!”

  ‘Look,’ Weeks said suddenly, ‘there’s someone in the van!’ A curtain twitched and fell back into place.

  ‘I bet it’s his lad, Duke.’ Nettie turned to the DC. ‘Listen, why don’t you go off and chat to anyone who’s left. He might respond better if I see him on my own.’

  ‘Good idea. I’ll do that.’

  While Weeks went off Nettie climbed the steps to the caravan. She knocked tentatively on the door. There was silence from inside. She tried again, a little harder. Still nothing. Set in the door was a polished brass letterbox. She crouched and pushed the flap open.

  ‘Duke,’ she called. ‘I know you’re in there. Could we have a chat?’

  ‘Go away!’ The voice was muffled but had a distinct tremor in it.

  ‘I only want to talk.’ Nettie tried to sound her most calming and persuasive.

  ‘I don’t wanna see no one. I just want my dad back.’

  ‘That’s what I want to talk to you about.’

  ‘You’re lying!’ The words came out as a shout.

  The WPC tried a different approach. ‘You must be hungry.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘I’ll buy you a hotdog.’

  ‘Yeah, you say that. Then you’ll take me to an ’ome.’

  ‘No, I won’t.’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘I promise.’ Nettie’s face twisted in anguish; her fingers crossed behind her back. She heard light footsteps crossing the floor. A key turned in the lock; the door opened a crack.

  A grubby face peered out. ‘You on your own?’ the boy asked suspiciously.

  ‘Yes, only me.’

  ‘Right. Just a hotdog then I can go back?’

  Nettie slowly let out the breath she’d been holding. ‘Of course.’

  The door opened farther, just enough to let Duke slide out. He closed the door and locked it firmly. Without much hope the WPC held her hand towards him. Automatically his grubby mitt closed in hers. They walked over to Terry’s van. She ordered a hotdog, chips and a Tizer for Duke and a tea for herself.

  ‘When did you last eat?’ she asked while they waited.

  ‘Dunno.’ Duke had taken his hand back and thrust it in the pocket of his grimy shorts.
His chin was on his chest; he kicked idly at the ground with a booted foot. ‘Found some cheese and a crust in the van.’

  ‘You must be starving.’

  He gave a non-committal shrug. When the food appeared they took it over to a table. Almost before they’d sat down Duke had grabbed the hotdog and started stuffing it in his mouth, followed by the chips. In less than a couple of minutes it was gone and he was sucking greedily on the straw sticking out of the top of the Tizer bottle. The contents of that too disappeared in a matter of seconds. He sat back in the chair, let out a loud belch and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

  ‘Would you like another?’

  Again the shrug. ‘Don’t mind.’

  ‘Stay there then.’

  Praying that he wouldn’t run off, Nettie went back to the tea van. Surreptitiously she watched the boy as she waited. She was relieved to see he was making no effort to abscond. He was just sitting, staring into space and idly biting the skin on the side of a finger. When she returned with a further course he hadn’t moved. This time he ate more slowly, savouring the food.

  ‘Tell me why the funfair people didn’t take you with them,’ she prompted.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Because I didn’t want to go. I want to wait here ’til my dad gets back.’

  ‘But that might be for a while.’

  ‘Don’t care. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.’ He folded his arms, his face set in a belligerent scowl. ‘An’, the council ain’t taking the truck away. I’ve ’id the key an’ I ain’t tellin’ no one where it is.’

  ‘Listen, if I could find you somewhere to stay – until your dad comes back – would you go?’

  ‘Depends.’

  ‘On what?’

  ‘Who it is and where it is.’ He looked up, a haunted stare marring his young features. ‘’Ere! It ain’t an ’ome, is it?’

  Nettie thought furiously. Where the hell could he go? ‘No, it won’t be a home. Can I trust you to stay here for five minutes?’

  The boy grinned suddenly. ‘If you get me another drink – an’ a doughnut.’

  -0-

  ‘Johnny. I’ve told Duke that I’ll find him somewhere to stay. I’m racking my brains to think of where he can go.’

  ‘I can’t take him. My place is far too small and besides, I’m hardly ever there. Let me think.’ The DC’s shoulders slumped and he rubbed his chin, thoughtful for a while. Then he looked up and pushed his thick fringe off his forehead. ‘I’ve just had a thought.’

  ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘He trusts you, doesn’t he?’

  ‘He does.’

  ‘And your brother is about the same age as him?’

  ‘Michael? Yes, why?’

  ‘I wondered if they’d get on.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’ Nettie glanced back towards the tea van. Duke hadn’t moved. He was still sitting at the table, showing no sign of wanting to run off.

  ‘Do you think your mum would put him up?’

  ‘She might. There’s enough room in the house for him.’

  ‘It would only be for a short time – until his dad is released.’

  ‘If he’s released.’

  ‘He will be,’ Weeks said confidently. ‘DI Russell thinks he’s innocent, and so do I.’

  ‘Me too,’ Nettie agreed. ‘But we’ve still got to find the real killer.’

  ‘I know, but I don’t think he’s here,’ Weeks said. ‘The few people who are left all say that Boswell is a good boss – treats them fairly and never cheats them.’

  ‘So nothing to back up Bonnie’s hopes that he was unpopular or difficult?’

  ‘Far from it.’

  ‘I suppose we’ll have to go over to Tenterden and talk to the others.’

  ‘Looks like it. Do you think we could drop Duke at your mum’s on the way?’

  ‘I suppose so. I just hope he’s willing to go – and she’s happy to have him.’ She stood looking thoughtful for a few moments, then made up her mind. ‘All right, let’s get on with it.’

  They were walking back across the battered grass when Weeks suddenly stopped. He looked round and scanned the site. ‘That’s odd.’

  ‘What is?’ Nettie asked.

  ‘Gypsy Rose Lee’s caravan has gone.’

  ‘So it has. Perhaps the other travellers took it.’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘Why don’t you ask the stragglers while I talk to Duke? He might be suspicious if you’re there when I put our proposal to him.’

  -0-

  ‘You tryin’ to trick me?’ Duke’s brows were lowered, making him look like a young bull about to charge.

  ‘Of course not. We’re friends, aren’t we? You do trust me, don’t you?’

  The brows lifted and the boy sighed. ‘S’pose so. Ain’t no one else I can trust.’

  ‘Right then.’ Nettie was business-like. ‘How d’you fancy a ride in a police car?’

  Duke’s eyes lit up. ‘Can we ’ave the bell goin’?’

  The WPC chuckled. ‘Not sure about that, but it should be fun. Shall we go and find Johnny?’

  ‘Has he got to come?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. He’s the driver.’

  ‘Right. But no funny business. I ain’t goin’ in an ’ome. Okay?’

  ‘Of course. I wouldn’t dream of it.’

  -0-

  Nettie’s family lived in a large, detached house on the outskirts of Collinghurst. Weeks was surprised to see a gravel drive curving round in front of the building with two exits.

  ‘Don’t get too excited,’ the WPC said. ‘We don’t own it. My dad’s a vicar and it goes with the job. It’s not as grand as it appears.’

  ‘Looks all right to me,’ Weeks said as he pulled up outside the house. Duke was obviously impressed too although he was trying hard not to show it.

  Nettie got out of the car first. ‘Stay here while I speak to mum. Don’t want to give her too much of a surprise.’ She disappeared inside the front door, returning shortly with an elegant-looking woman; an older version of her daughter. She stood on the step with Nettie, smiling warmly while Weeks and Duke made their way towards them, the boy dragging his heels and scowling. As soon as they reached them the woman crouched so that she was on the boy’s level and spoke to him.

  ‘You must be Duke. What a lovely name.’

  ‘S’alright.’ He stared at the ground, hands in pockets, one toe kicking the step.

  ‘Would you like to come in and have a look round?’

  He shrugged. ‘Don’t mind.’

  ‘I’m afraid that my son Michael isn’t home from school yet. But he shouldn’t be long.’

  Duke looked up alarmed.

  Mrs Sharpe touched him lightly on the shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, he must be about the same age as you. He’s very nice. Come on. There’s some lemonade in the kitchen. And I’ve just baked scones.’

  -0-

  ‘That went better than I’d expected,’ Nettie said, as they travelled towards Tenterden. ‘I thought he might run off again.’

  Weeks smiled. ‘Your mum seemed to reassure him. He even turned and gave a smile as we were driving off.’

  They were back in the Ford Pilot which Weeks now quite enjoyed driving. Leaving the Sharpe household they were motoring cross-country to Tenterden. They dropped down Mackerel Hill; past hop gardens where the new growth was starting to twine round the strings; meadows dotted with sheep and fields of emerging spring crops. Soon they reached Blackwall Bridge.

  ‘Oh, stop here, please,’ Nettie said. Obediently Weeks pulled over to the side of the road. ‘I just wanted to look at the water. We come here in the summer. We like to think we’re swimming from Sussex to Kent, although the border is actually a bit further over. It’s fun though,’ she beamed.

  ‘Are you a good swimmer?’ Weeks asked.

  ‘I was a junior champion. Got my lifesaving badges and everything. Still enjoy it when I get the chance.’

  While she
looked upstream Weeks was staring downriver when something caught his eye. ‘Hello. Looks like there’s a big fire down there.’ In the distance a pall of smoke was climbing into the blue sky, carried north-eastward on the gentle breeze.

  ‘Too early for stubble-burning,’ Nettie observed. ‘Wonder what it can be. Hope it’s not someone’s home.’

  ‘I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough,’ Weeks said, putting the car smoothly into gear and setting off. They passed through Wittersham and, rather than carry on through Smallhythe, Weeks took the slightly longer route towards Rolvenden. They were held up at Wittersham Road station as a tired-looking Stroudley Terrier tank locomotive came puffing over the level crossing, pulling a handful of wagons.

  ‘It’s a shame they shut the line to passengers a couple of years ago,’ he declared. ‘It’s such a pretty route.’

  ‘I know. Dad’s a bit of a steam buff and loved taking us on it when we were kids.’

  The signalman shuffled down from his box at the side of the road. After he’d made a big show of pushing the gates open they were on their way again. Ironically, when they reached the dip at the bottom of Rolvenden Hill where the railway crossed the road, the gates were closed again and the train they had seen earlier clattered over the level crossing on its way to the town. They weren’t delayed for long and were soon climbing the hill up to Tenterden. The road levelled out and they drove along the wide, tree-lined high street. On the left, sitting a little lower than the road, were shops and on the right, behind mature gardens, were elegant Georgian houses and traditional Kentish tile-hung cottages. As the road narrowed it was lined with shops on both sides. Finally, the recreation ground came into view. They could see a bustle of activity as the rides and stalls were erected. The funfair had come to town.

  Chapter 15

  Ben Gunn was a former member of Flint's crew in Robert Louis Stephenson’s Treasure Island. He became half insane after being marooned for three years, having convinced another member of the ship's crew that he was capable of finding Flint's treasure. After Dr Livesey gives him what he most craves, cheese, Gunn reveals that he has found it.