Betty Church and the Suffolk Vampire (A Betty Church Mystery Book 1)

by M. R. C. Kasasian

  ‘I heard that.’

  ‘So did I. Did she say what she was calling for?’ I asked.

  Tubby looked more shocked than when he had come away from the first GMC hearing. ‘I couldn’t ask Miss Middleton something like that.’

  ‘But she sounded all right?’

  ‘She sounded wonderful.’ Tubby smiled beatifically. ‘And she was very nice when I told her she had got her left and right cardiac ventricles the wrong way round when she wrote about one of her solo investigations in The Woman Vanishes.’

  ‘Was this before or after she promised you the book?’ I wondered.

  ‘Oh ages before,’ Tubby puffed. We were near the top by then. ‘Miss Middleton explained that she had got it right but somebody had altered it and that all editors and proofreaders are lazy, ignorant and incompetent parasites sucking at the author’s lifeblood.’

  ‘Really?’ I had thought she had a high opinion of her publishers, Antonia and Nicola Cheetah in particular, and it was not like Aunty M to be unkind.

  ‘Well, she said that is what Mr Grice told her.’

  It did sound more like him than her. Tubby kicked another pine cone, scuffing it sideways.

  ‘Watch out, Billy Walker,’ I murmured.

  ‘Didn’t know you liked football.’

  ‘I don’t. Carmelo and Jimmy do.’ They had not been at all happy that the England team had been ordered to give the Nazi salute in Berlin but were partially mollified by our side winning 6–3.

  ‘Jimmy found a job yet? A proper one, I mean.’

  I knew what Tubby thought of Jimmy’s aspirations to be a writer.

  ‘He joins the RAF today.’

  I was Tubby’s chance to say Really? so he did. ‘Is that why you’re all dolled up?’

  ‘I’m seeing him off.’

  ‘Not Annie’ – Tubby grinned – ‘or Milly or Jayne?’

  ‘All busy, I’m afraid.’

  Once there had been sheep cropping the path. Now there was only Boris, an ancient billy goat glaring accusingly from a patch of brown bracken, and the grass was knee-high in places until we reached the lawn that I had seen Greta scything last autumn.

  We went through the side door straight into the kitchen, where Greta greeted me with a steaming mug.

  ‘How are you now?’ I took the coffee gratefully from her knobbly-knuckled hands.

  Greta had had a nasty bout of bronchitis to add to her miseries.

  ‘Cold.’ She pulled her quilted coat around her shoulders.

  ‘No natural insulation,’ Tubby grunted as if being delicately built was something his wife did out of naughtiness.

  ‘But not as cold as you must be in that boat,’ Greta went on.

  ‘It’s actually quite warm,’ I assured her but didn’t like to add that it was a lot warmer and more sheltered than the draughty hilltop pile they lived in.

  ‘You wait for winter,’ she warned. ‘But it’s the captain I worry about.’

  ‘Carmelo?’ Tubby snorted. ‘An old seadog like him can withstand a great deal worse than the British winter.’

  ‘Is that your considered medical opinion?’ I stood closer to the range.

  ‘It’s what he told me to say,’ Tubby admitted and the telephone rang. ‘That’ll be her.’ He beamed, like a child hearing sleigh bells on Christmas Eve, and I quit my cosy perch for the unheated, high-ceilinged, oak-panelled wind tunnel they called the hall.

  52

  MANICURE MURDERS AND THE IDLE BUNCH

  It was a good clear line from London, much better than we got from one side of Sackwater to the other.

  ‘Hello, Betty.’

  The greeting was cheery enough.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ I asked anxiously.

  ‘Oh yes, dear. I did tell Edward to reassure you.’

  It took me a second to realise that Edward was Tubby. My godmother had been engaged to an Edward, a long time ago in India.

  ‘I believe you promised him a book.’

  ‘I hope he did not think I was being patronising.’

  ‘Oh, he’s like two lambs with four tails,’ I assured her. ‘If you write To Dear Tubby he’ll be like a flock of them.’

  ‘Of course, darling. He was telling me about his wife,’ Aunty M said. Tubby never talked about Greta to strangers. It was not until his hearing that I’d realised how bad she was. ‘I did not want to be presumptuous but, if they would like to consult with Professor Bronowski, I’m sure I can arrange it.’

  ‘Thank you, Aunty, I’ll let him know.’

  ‘And he can always ring me here. I did enjoy our chat.’

  ‘You might have to have your phone disconnected if I tell him that,’ I warned and my godmother chuckled.

  ‘The reason I rang,’ she told me, ‘is because I read about that awful business on Sackwater Station and I believe you were there.’

  I briefly explained what had happened.

  ‘It is just that it reminded me dreadfully of a similar case we had in Euston Square underground station in 1927,’ March Middleton continued. ‘I am only surprised that the press did not pick up on it – though I should not be, really. They are an idle bunch on the whole – the Camden Vampire, they called it here.’

  ‘I remember the case,’ I told her. ‘But I was involved in the Manicure Murders at the time.’ They were called that because the killer neatly trimmed all his victims’ fingernails, leading one scurrilous newspaper to dub him Jack the Snipper. ‘Do you think your vampire and mine could be the same man?’

  ‘No, darling, I do not,’ Aunty M assured me. ‘We caught and hanged him and I am absolutely certain we got the right man. It is just the similarities were so striking that I wondered if this might be a crime de copié. It may be nothing but I can let you have the files, if you like. His name was Vernon Willowdale.’

  ‘Oh yes, I’ve heard of him. That would be very helpful,’ I said.

  ‘Or very unhelpful, if it is just a coincidence. I shall have them sent to you as soon as possible,’ she promised. ‘Now, how is the arm and then I want all your gossip, the more scandalous the better. The people I meet these days are so well behaved in my presence, I might be the queen in church.’

  ‘My arm is fine,’ I lied. ‘Do you remember me telling you about Caroline Foster who I went to school with?’

  ‘The one with two lovers?’ I could almost see Aunty M perk up.

  ‘Well, now it turns out she has three husbands.’ I perched on the edge of the telephone table. This could be a long call.

  *

  It was only later I realised that Aunty M and Dodo had one thing in common. They never didn’ted their did nots or turned their are nots into aren’ts. My godmother was Victorian but what was Dodo’s excuse?

  ‘I wish I’d asked her to write To Tubby on it,’ Tubby moaned. ‘But I didn’t have the nerve to ask.’

  ‘Even if you had, I can’t imagine she would,’ Greta told him.

  ‘Have you ever heard of Professor Bronowski?’ I asked them both.

  ‘Tubby wrote to ask him for an opinion,’ Greta sighed, ‘but then that stupid brainless pompous committee interfered and said he couldn’t take referrals from a struck-off doctor, so he wouldn’t see me.’

  ‘I think he might now,’ I said but Greta was looking at me oddly.

  ‘Are you all right, Betty?’ Her husband was flicking something.

  ‘Yes of course,’ I told her.

  ‘Just going to pop this under your tongue.’ Tubby slipped a thermometer into my mouth. ‘Roll up your sleeve, please.’ All at once we were back in his surgery and I was an embarrassed teenager.

  ‘Oh dear,’ Greta said.

  ‘Oh dear indeed,’ Tubby seconded. ‘That wound is very angry. I don’t want to prod it and hurt you but I think you have sequestra – bone fragments breaking free – also’ – he whipped the thermometer out – ‘you have a fever – 101 degrees. You need to get it X-rayed and cleaned up properly under an anaesthetic.’

  ‘I’ll get
it looked at when I have time,’ I told him.

  ‘Do you have time to lose the rest of your arm?’ he cross-examined me. ‘Or even – and I am not being melodramatic here – your life?’ And I knew he was right. It was just that I had a nearly-nephew to wave off and a murderer to catch and neither would wait for me to feel better.

  53

  THE MIRACLE OF MESOPOTAMIA

  Jimmy waited on the platform, looking even taller in his uniform, though he was tall enough for most purposes already. He stood a good head above the hordes of servicemen, mostly new recruits with their mothers, and, were it not for my heels, he would have had an inch or two’s advantage over me.

  I glanced at the platform. It had been well hosed down and scrubbed since that murder and I forced myself not to look again. I was not there in my official capacity.

  Jimmy looked terrific in his grey-blue uniform, the black band on his sleeve with a thin blue band inside it denoting his rank as pilot officer. His peaked hat with the brass badge was tipped very slightly to one side. He spent ages fiddling with that so as to look rakish but not scruffy.

  ‘Very smart.’ I adjusted his tie though he had knotted it perfectly and saw him shift a little in embarrassment, this boy, hardly old enough to vote, setting out to be a warrior.

  ‘Is the jacket OK?’ He tugged it down. ‘It hung a bit baggily so I got Mr Tubwall to take it in.’

  I stepped back, hoping Jimmy would not get into trouble or be mocked. The jacket was noticeably waisted now and I was almost sure it wasn’t meant to be.

  ‘You look splendid.’

  ‘So do you.’ Jimmy grinned. I had put a blue floral dress on with long sleeves and a white glove to hide my false arm, with the other glove wedged between the wooden fingers to look like I had just pulled it off. I had been feeling under the weather lately and looking a bit grey. Women police officers in uniform do not wear make-up, but I was off duty so I had taken the opportunity to brighten myself up. ‘It’s a long time since I’ve seen you in a frock.’ He was looking at me more like his uncle used to and I couldn’t pretend I minded.

  I had padded my stump as best I could but any careless movement still brought a tear to my eyes.

  A little boy prodded Jimmy’s leg. ‘Are you a German?’

  ‘Don’t be dizzy.’ His older sister rolled her eyes like Emily, the china doll I used to have before Dodo appropriated her and renamed her Cynthia. ‘He’s one of those brave boys in blue that Mummy likes so much.’

  ‘Are you going to kill Nazis?’ The boy was awestruck.

  ‘Every blessed one of them,’ Jimmy vowed as their mother dragged them away.

  Jimmy puffed out his cheeks. ‘Pity the captain didn’t come. He’s still got an old uniform.’

  I glanced away. ‘You know he hates goodbyes.’ And, though I did not say it, so did I.

  Jimmy unbuttoned his left breast pocket. ‘He gave me this last night, from Dad.’ And slipped out the old cigarette case. We all knew his father’s story of how the dent was caused by an Ottoman bayonet in the Mesopotamian campaign.

  ‘That should keep you safe.’

  Jimmy slipped it back. ‘You don’t believe that stuff, do you?’

  ‘It worked for him.’ I smiled with a reassurance I didn’t feel as I watched Jimmy put the case back over his heart. ‘Maybe he’ll get in touch when he knows you’ve joined up.’

  ‘I shan’t tell him,’ Jimmy vowed, ‘and you mustn’t.’

  A squadron leader paused. ‘Hello, pal. I say, what a stunner.’ He eyed me up and down and up again, pausing at the third button of my dress. I had left the top two undone. ‘Just to brief you, we’ve commandeered the front two compartments for the RAF.’ He said RAF as if it were a one-syllable word, then zipped past and swung his soft leather bag into the train.

  ‘You will be careful, won’t you?’ I touched Jimmy’s hand.

  Jimmy laughed and rubbed the back of his neck.

  ‘It’s not about being careful, Aunty. It’s about killing Jerries.’

  I didn’t like to say that they would be doing their best to kill him too, nor that the Luftwaffe was the biggest air force in the world with pilots who had had combat experience, whereas Jimmy had only trained in peacetime and never been fired upon.

  The brake joints hissed like a pantomime audience when the villain makes an appearance.

  ‘Come on, chum,’ another officer called from on board. ‘Say goodbye to your girl. We’re ready for take-off.’

  There was a self-consciousness in these uniformed youths’ choices of words that was rather endearing, like boys trying to adopt their new school’s slang.

  ‘Wouldn’t want to leave her behind,’ another shouted while a soldier, leaning out of the train, yelled, ‘Wouldn’t want to leave her front either!’ to general catcalls.

  Jimmy glanced over his shoulder. ‘Well, I’ll be off then.’ He pecked me on the cheek and peered over my head. ‘Don’t take this amiss but I was rather hoping one of my girls would come. Gives a chap a bit more kudos with a girl to see him off.’

  ‘I’d give her more to remember me by than that if she were mine,’ the squadron leader scoffed.

  ‘No, she’s not—’ Jimmy began but I put a finger to his lips and a hand behind his head and winked and the light dawned, but still Jimmy hesitated.

  ‘You don’t mean…’ but he never said what I didn’t mean for he knew full well that I did.

  ‘Kudos,’ I mouthed and stroked his face.

  Jimmy took a breath. ‘Bye, darling.’ And took me in his arms to kiss me near the mouth, but I was too quick for him.

  ‘I say.’ Jimmy blushed and just managed to stop the sound that his lips were making of Aunty.

  ‘Once more,’ I whispered and he held me tighter and kissed me properly and longer the second time.

  ‘Gawd, get some solvent. They’re glued together,’ a sailor cackled, throwing his knapsack into a second-class carriage.

  ‘And a crowbar,’ one of his friends whooped.

  ‘Be lucky.’ I kissed Jimmy a third time before I let go of his head and he released me. If he was feigning reluctance, he did it very convincingly.

  ‘Gosh,’ he breathed and I was only relieved that nobody else heard him and that he wasn’t blushing any more.

  Jimmy grinned. ‘I’m glad you’re not really—’

  ‘Don’t miss your train,’ I broke in and he stepped back.

  The guard blew his whistle and flapped a green flag on a stick and Jimmy snatched up his suitcase and turned.

  ‘Welllll, she’s a bit super-delicious.’ The squadron leader leered. ‘Has she got any sisters?’

  Jimmy said something I didn’t catch but I was happy to see that it got a good laugh. He heaved his case in and followed it.

  I couldn’t see Jimmy because his comrades were leaning out of the window.

  One roared, ‘Stick around, sweetheart. I’ll finish the job for him when I come back.’

  Doors were slamming. The engine strained and the wheels shifted restlessly.

  ‘Oh he’s more than capable of doing that himself,’ I assured Jimmy’s new pal, settling into my newly expanded not-really-an-aunty duties rather well, I thought.

  The two scraggy girls I had seen waving the truck off were there, flapping their even-less-clean handkerchiefs at two different sweethearts.

  ‘Farewell my own true lover,’ the scrawny girl sobbed. She was getting very good at that.

  ‘Oi’ll write every day, my darlin’,’ her scrawnier friend vowed tearfully, though a little less convincingly, I felt.

  The train drudged off. So many people must be waving bravely to their loved ones throughout the country, with no way of knowing what might lie ahead. It was just the pain shooting up to my shoulder, I told myself, that brought tears to my eyes.

  Mr Trime came across. ‘Was that your sweetheart?’ he asked solicitously as the two girls went off in search of a cuppa.

  ‘I was just doing my bit for morale,’ I told h
im.

  ‘That’s the spirit,’ he said uncertainly.

  ‘I expect that munitions train blowing up has caused you a few headaches,’ I said but the stationmaster shook his head.

  ‘Luckily it was just on the dock line so we weren’t affected at all.’ He clicked the lid shut on his East Anglia Line hunter watch and slipped it back into his waistcoat.

  But Dodo told me they cancelled her train, I remembered. Why would she lie to me about being late? Had she had a romantic assignation? She had seemed even more dreamy than usual lately.

  I went out and onto High Road West.

  A newspaper vendor bellowed hoarsely, ‘Brave Poles defy Hitler in Warsaw!’

  Not for much longer, I thought in dismay. Then Hitler could turn his attention to us. Evening was falling on our empire, or so he proclaimed, while a new dawn rose over the Thousand-Year Reich.

  Rufus Verdigris, the accountant and would-be doctor, came rushing up. ‘Damn and blast, I’ve missed it.’ His clean white handkerchief poked neatly at the ready from the breast pocket of his well-pressed pinstripe suit. ‘Last time,’ he confided, ‘a man got grit in his eye and asked if I could help. What a sauce!’

  54

  WAVES THROUGH THE ETHER

  Every police force I have ever visited runs off tea and Sackwater Central was no exception. That morning it was Dodo’s turn to make it but, having sampled her previous concoctions, Bantony had volunteered to brew a pot himself. I was just explaining to Constable Box, disconsolate at having no nickname, that, using cockney rhyming slang, he could call himself Sticks, when Inspector Sharkey made an appearance, so white with excitement he could have stood naked – horrible thought – in the corner of Lavender Wicks’s sitting room without being spotted.

  ‘What’s happened?’ I was not going to wait for him to play some silly game, but then the end door opened and Superintendent Vesty drifted in, secateurs in hand.

  ‘One Easter Sunday when I was six and ill in bed,’ he told the assembly, ‘my older brother Bernard came to my room with a black thread and told me to pull it as hard as I could. Being a tractable child, I did as I was bid, whereupon I was alarmed to hear a loud crash accompanied by the sounds of smashing.