by Anne Crosse
“To bring you a pot of coffee,” James said, cutting in.
“And another batch of toast wouldn’t go amiss. I don’t know what it is about the country air, but it always gives me an appetite.”
“Know exactly what you mean, sir.” James laughed.
“Do you really?” Robert asked.
CHAPTER 3
“Would you mind showing us to the incident room?” James asked.
The desk sergeant tried not to laugh, but failed miserably.
This place is an even bigger kip than the old station, Robert mused as he and James followed the desk sergeant down a very long narrow corridor. You wouldn’t want to be claustrophobic, he thought.
The smell of must and stale cigarette smoke hit the air as the door was thrown open by the laughing policeman.
“How many of you work here?” Robert asked.
“Just me and Celine. Cutbacks, you see.”
“Celine, a Garda, is she?”
“No, she does the paperwork; not that there’s much of that to be done, and you could write it on the back of an envelope. The only crime being committed here now is a bit of window breaking on a Saturday night.”
“You weren’t around two years ago when myself and my able-bodied assistant here, the one and only James Sayder, investigated the Joubert murders,” Robert said.
“I’m a replacement, sir.”
“Retired, did he? The old desk sergeant.”
“He sure did. He is getting his pension from the man above.”
“What are you talking about?” Robert asked.
“He died.”
“So, where’s Celine today then? On a one week on and one week off basis, is she? Seeing she has nothing to do but write on the back of envelopes?” Robert asked.
“She’s gone on a tanning session to Spain, but she’ll be back in a fortnight. By the way, she uses this room to have the odd sneaky ciggie, I can see your nose has detected that, you being a detective and all.”
“Right, you can get back to your duties, we will take it from here,” Robert said.
“There was a superintendent here named Sayder, are you a relation?” The desk sergeant looked directly at James.
“My uncle,” James replied.
“I got a transfer here, the wife was born and bred in this town, she always wanted to come back. So, when the opportunity arose, I jumped at the chance,” the desk sergeant explained.
Robert scowled at him.
Taking the hint, the man beat a hasty retreat.
James surveyed the room. There was a blackboard which was not terribly big, but the walls were wood panelled, so at least you could put some sticky notes up without doing damage. There was a wooden box containing several sticks of coloured chalk. He rooted through it, and right at the bottom he found a sole stick of white. There could be enough in that, he smiled wryly.
“Open the bloody window, will you, before I suffocate. Couldn’t that Celine one go outside to smoke?” Robert coughed.
“Are you going to ring the coroner?” James asked.
As if on cue, Doctor Morris manoeuvred his large burly figure in through the open door.
“It stinks in here, and I am used to stinks, but this is what I’d call the king of stinks,” Doctor Morris said, laughing.
Robert shook the doctor’s outstretched hand. “We meet again,” he said.
“Death is reuniting us,” Doctor Morris replied.
Robert jerked a finger in James’s direction. “I was about to ring you, as per my assistant’s instructions.”
“Hello, young Mr Sayder!” Doctor Morris boomed. “And tell me this, how’s your uncle these days?”
“He is retired, but still married to the force.”
Doctor Morris got down to business and said, “We have two bodies.”
“Which were moved before we arrived, and if you don’t mind me saying so, it was completely out of order,” Robert added, snarling.
Doctor Morris ignored the sly dig and continued with his report. “I have identified one,” he said.
“One?”
“Well, one of the two. A prayer book wrapped in plastic, which preserved it, was…”
“I take it there was a name on it,” Robert interrupted.
“Pat Dillon was the name written on it.”
“That’s no proof really, is it? Might not have even been his,” Robert said.
“Now, are you suggesting he stole it or something?” Doctor Morris said, laughing. “You’d want to be really mean to steal a holy thing. Although, now that I think of it, the church was broken into last week. They made off with the poor box. Now, if ever there was a low act, that was the lowest of the low.”
“Is Father Scully still around?” James asked.
“The poor fellow ended up in a home for the bewildered, and then just gave up and died.”
“He loved the old black and white movies, The Devil at Four was his favourite – Frank Sinatra and Spencer Tracy,” James said.
“Sorry to have to interrupt your reminiscences, but could we get on with the case in hand?” Robert said with a growl.
“Sorry, sir,” James said.
“One lad maybe fell in, and then the other tried to rescue him, or maybe not,” Doctor Morris mused.
“You can leave the detection work to us,” Robert said sharply.
“I’ll be off. You have my number, for anything other than detection.” Doctor Morris deliberately put emphasis on the word ‘detection’.
“Send the desk sergeant down here, Doctor, on your way out. At least he will have local knowledge, and that is exactly what we need,” Robert said.
The desk sergeant smiled when he was told the name of one of the victims.
“Know him, do you?” Robert guessed.
“There’s two of them, Pat and Dick. A right gruesome twosome. Though, the Dick fellow was the ringleader, in my humble opinion.”
“Into petty crime, were they?” Robert asked.
“Not quite, although… Actually, I will tell you another time. Mostly they were a proper pair of bullies, taunting poor misfortunates, and they did their fair share of fighting on a Saturday night after a feed of drink. And then that was followed by a feed of chips, which they duly threw up on the pavement. Wouldn’t you pity the poor sod who had to clean it up from outside their front door?”
“Normal enough fellows so,” Robert said, laughing.
“I’ll give you the address of their mother, Mrs Dillon.”
“We had better go and see her, James, before word gets out.”
“I would highly recommend it, bad news travels fast in this town,” the desk sergeant said.
“No change there then,” Robert said.
“Indeed, news travels faster in Magnerstown than e-mail,” the desk sergeant said, laughing.
“Broadband still giving trouble in town,” James quipped.
“Come on for fuck sake, let’s get out of here! I need a mug of coffee to resuscitate me,” Robert said.
“I can make you one,” the desk sergeant offered.
“I meant a decent mug of coffee, not brown fucking water,” Robert said between gritted teeth.
“You are into your barista big time, are you?” The desk sergeant grinned.
James couldn’t help but admire this man. He was approaching retiring age, but he was really up to date. He hated the concept that people over a certain age knew nothing about modern technology.
They knew everything there was to know about life, and the horrible thing was, just as they had gained all that vast experience, they did a disappearing act.
CHAPTER 4
“Are you Mrs Dillon?” James asked.
The woman looked so frail that James couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. She was about to hear some tragic news, and she looked as if she could do without that kind of thing being foisted on her.
“We would like to have a word,” Robert said.
It fell on James to make the introductions. “T
his is Detective Inspector Robert Carroll, and I am his assistant, James Sayder,” he said.
Nellie Dillon offered to make a pot of tea as soon as they were seated at her kitchen table.
Robert declined the offer and placed his briefcase on the table. James would have liked a cup, but thought better of it when he caught Robert’s steely eye.
“Please sit down, Mrs Dillon, I need to show you something,” Robert said.
Nellie sat down on the edge of the chair looking extremely nervous.
Robert donned a pair of plastic gloves and then removed the prayer book from the briefcase. He opened it and showed Mrs Dillon the name written on the inside cover.
Robert noted the look on Mrs Dillon’s face, which confirmed it was in fact the property of her son Pat.
“Can you tell us when he went missing?” Robert began.
“Just under a year ago now.”
“Did you report it?”
“No, because…”
“Take your time. Would you like a drink of water?” Robert asked.
On cue, James went to the sink. There was a glass on the drainer which he half filled with water in case the poor woman dropped it.
Nellie’s hand was visibly shaking as she took a sip. “I really hate that old council pop,” she said.
“I don’t blame you, Mrs Dillon. It’s full of lime, and judging by the state of kettles, I shudder to think what our insides must look like,” James said.
“So, what have they done over in England? The English police won’t put up with what the crowd put up with here, and quite right too,” Nellie Dillon stated.
“I am not following you,” Robert said.
“The two of them scampered off to England, and to tell you the truth, I was glad they did. Well, to be honest, I missed Pat. He wasn’t a bad lad, he wanted to be a priest, you know.”
“Did you say England?” Robert asked.
“Yes, England, because they wouldn’t last five minutes in America.”
“Right, we are going to have to clarify this, Mrs Dillon. Do you know for certain they went to England?” Robert asked.
“I came home from work, I do for Miss Kneeshaw.”
“Do?”
“I do cleaning for her. Only a few hours every second day. She’s very generous, I’ll give her that.”
“Right, go on, Mrs Dillon. You came home from work…” Robert prompted.
“I got the pork chops onto the frying pan and called upstairs for the lads to come down. They always got up late on a Saturday. When they didn’t come down, I went up to see what was wrong.”
“They weren’t there,” Robert guessed.
“That’s right, they weren’t.”
“And then?”
“I noticed their beds were still made up. Then I remembered they hadn’t come home by the time I had gone to bed on the Friday night. So I presumed they’d got up to some shenanigans. I thought maybe they’d gone off for the weekend to some festival. They were devils for drinking and girling.”
“You presumed.”
“Yes, I presumed.”
“I said nothing to nobody. But a few days later, their boss Mr Kelly called to see me. There’s two of them, Bob and Jack. One of them is thin and the other is fat. I’ll give you a fiver if you guess which one called.”
“So, where’s this place of work then?” Robert asked, ignoring the wager.
“Kelly’s Cider Bottling Company.”
“I know the place; it’s in Grattan Street, sir,” James said.
“So, what had this boss man to say about the boys?” Robert asked.
“He wondered where they were, thought they were sick, he said. I told him they were missing and he said I should report it,” Nellie replied.
“But you didn’t report it, did you?” Robert said.
“No, because Mr Kelly told me they’d been bawling off money. The odd few bob here and there. So then I was certain they’d been saving up to go to England. Dick was always saying he would love to get out of this town.” Nellie paused to catch her breath and then continued, “Spread his wings and fly away, he used to say. Fat chance of that, I used to think. Like a homing pigeon, he’d be back within the day.”
“Mrs Dillon, I am terribly afraid to say this, but we could have bad news for you,” Robert said.
“He’s dead, isn’t he? Pat’s dead. That’s his prayer book. He always kept it in his pocket. If he had become a priest, he would be still alive,” Nellie said as she fished a handkerchief out of her cardigan pocket and dried her eyes.
Robert waited for Nellie Dillon to compose herself before asking his next question. “Your other son Dick, tell us more about him,” he said.
“Pure wild that one. Taken after his father for the boozing. His father drowned in a stream, you know. He was coming home drunk as a lord and wandered out of town. Fell into a stream, he did, and that was the end of him.”
“Sorry for your loss,” Robert said.
“You might think I’m cruel when I say this, but he was no loss. He was worth more dead than alive, widow’s pension, if you get my meaning.” Nellie winked.
“But the pension can’t have been enough, seeing you had to do for Miss Kneeshaw,” Robert said.
“Both of them are dead, aren’t they? Pat and Dick are dead.”
“From what we’ve got so far, yes, it seems likely,” Robert replied.
“Is there anyone you want us to call? Anyone who could come and stay with you?” James asked.
“I’ll be fine, thanks,” Nellie replied.
“Are you sure of that? You’ve had an awful shock,” James insisted.
“I’ll be fine, don’t worry,” Nellie said with a smile.
* * *
Nellie Dillon let herself in through the side door with the key Miss Kneeshaw had entrusted to her. She was proud of that. She had never told the boys about the key because she didn’t trust them. They’d use it to rob the place. They were good at robbing, she knew that, because one time she’d found a crate of cider in the shed at the bottom of their garden when she went out there looking for a screwdriver. The door handle on her bathroom door had come loose, and she thought she’d try and fix it herself. It was still loose but it didn’t matter now, she was quite safe because there was no danger of the lads bursting in on her when she was on the toilet.
Her purse was safe too; before, she’d have to hide it to stop money going missing. She knew Dick was the thieving little culprit. Just like his father, he was. Like father like son, as the saying goes.
Nellie forced herself to focus on the present. Today was cooker cleaning day, which was a bit of an overstatement. Miss Kneeshaw rarely used the cooker. The grill she did use, for toasting a few slices of bread, and the hob for boiling an egg or heating a few beans. The poor woman hardly ate at all, but she did like chocolate biscuits and buns, and endless pots of tea. When all was said and done, she was still hale and hearty for someone who was born during the war, and that could only mean there was nothing at all wrong with her diet.
Next on the agenda was the bedroom furniture. She loved lashing on the polish, with the lovely smell of lavender filling the air. Miss Kneeshaw had offered her a tin of the magic wax to take home, but she’d declined. There was nothing worth polishing at home.
Her first home after getting married was a flat over a furniture shop in Church Street. It was awful having to share the kitchen and bathroom with the other dwellers. The kitchen wasn’t too bad because they’d worked out a rota for the use of it, but the bathroom was a different story. If you were bursting for the toilet, as often as not someone would be in it. Whereas she could hold it, the boys often peed in their pants. Eight years they had endured being cooped up in that damp hole of a place, until the council finally gave them a house.
The boys did so love the freedom of their new home, and they really relished playing out in the back garden. She often shed tears of joy as she observed them playing cowboys and Indians from the kitchen window.
>
She couldn’t afford to buy them guns and holsters and cowboy suits like all the other boys their age had, but they improvised.
‘Right. No more daydreaming, Nellie Dillon,’ she told her reflection in the dressing table mirror.
Once her chores were finished, she made her way towards the parlour.
“Miss Kneeshaw,” she called out.
“I’m in here with my lover,” Miss Kneeshaw replied.
Nellie Dillon entered the room with a big smile on her face. “Is it the usual one you have, or have you traded him in for a younger model? I believe that’s all the fashion,” she said, laughing.
The table was laid out as usual for their afternoon tea. China cups and saucers, with matching teapot, jug and sugar bowl beautifully decorated with delicate pink roses. Two side plates with doilies on them, and a large plate in the middle, sporting assorted biscuits, rounded off the display.
Miss Kneeshaw liked the finer things in life; an educated woman of genteel nature, that’s what Nellie liked so much about her boss.
“So, any news?” Miss Kneeshaw asked as she poured the tea.
“Yes, I have some news,” Nellie said.
“Bit of town gossip, is it?” Miss Kneeshaw smiled.
“You could say that. At least it will be the talk of the town as soon as it gets out,” Nellie said.
“Don’t keep me in suspense,” Miss Kneeshaw said with a frown.
“They have found Pat and Dick,” Nellie said.
Miss Kneeshaw put the teapot down and looked into Nellie’s face.
“They have found them? Where?” she asked.
“Just outside town, would you believe,” Nellie said.
“Oh.”
“And I was thinking they had gone to England, but all along they were right here,” Nellie said.
Miss Kneeshaw took a handkerchief from her pocket and twisted it round her fingers.
“Yes, they’ve found them. And guess what?” Nellie said.
“What?”
“They’re dead.”
CHAPTER 5
“Accident prone, the Dillons are. First the husband, and then the two sons. What do you make of it all, James?” Robert said.
James removed his coat and placed it on the back of the chair before seating himself opposite Robert. “Mrs Dillon didn’t seem too put out when we told her the news about her two sons. Sorry if I’m sounding a bit hard-hearted, but that’s the impression I got, sir.”
