The Mystery of Sundays Well

by Anne Crosse

  “I know you are a busy man with more important things to be doing than standing here listening to me rattling on,” Marie said.

  “It was my pleasure,” James said.

  Marie walked ahead towards the car that the desk sergeant had kindly loaned to James. He had told the man why he wanted it, and he was only too happy to oblige.

  “Careful there,” James said.

  It had been raining the whole of the previous day and the ground was very muddy in places. James stood for a minute, taking in the scene.

  “I’ll be with you in a minute,” he said, calling after Marie.

  The tape was broken as Marie had pointed out, but that wasn’t unusual in itself. There was something else he spotted, there were muddy car tyre tracks, which went all the way up to the well.

  He went back to take a closer look. There was mud up the side of the well that he hadn’t noticed until now. It looked for all the world like someone had taken something out of the boot of a car, pulled it towards the well, and then hauled it up the side.

  Something had been dumped in the well. He would have to tell Robert immediately, he thought as he dialled his boss’s number. As usual, it went straight into message. Did the man ever answer his phone? He left a message.

  Marie invited James back to the chipper for a fish and chip supper to thank him for the favour.

  * * *

  James tapped on Robert’s door when he got back to the hotel shortly after eleven o’clock. Getting no reply, James decided to take his phone out with the intention of ringing Robert, but immediately changed his mind. What was the point, it wouldn’t be answered anyway.

  He was just turning to go when the door opened. Robert looked like he had just been dragged backwards through a bush.

  “Sorry to disturb you, sir,” James said.

  “Come in,” Robert beckoned.

  James eyed the glass on the locker.

  “I was having an early night, and a nightcap to ensure an early night, but never make plans, eh?” Robert said.

  “Sorry to disturb you, sir,” James said, apologising.

  “Don’t keep repeating yourself,” Robert said with a bark.

  “I’m sorry…”

  “Get on with it, James. Sorry if I sound snappy, but my shoulder has been paining me all day,” Robert said.

  “I took Marie McGrath out to Sundays Well this afternoon. She wanted to see where the Dillon brothers died.”

  Robert eased himself into the bed and took a swig from the glass on the locker.

  “I can talk in the morning,” James said.

  “No, fire ahead.”

  “I noticed something odd,” James explained.

  “Firstly, remind me, who is Marie McGrath?”

  “She’s…”

  “Yes, I remember, the little one with the iron thing on her leg.”

  “That’s her.”

  “She came to see me. She had questions about the Dillons,” Robert said.

  “They gave her a hard time, did she tell you that?” James said.

  Robert took another swig. He was past caring what James was going to think of him. Past caring what anyone was going to think of him, but then wasn’t he being a bit presumptuous? Nobody thought about him at all.

  “Anyway, to cut a long story short,” James began.

  “All stories should be short,” Robert quipped.

  “As I said, I noticed something odd out there,” James continued.

  “The well is still there, is it? Nobody’s gone and stolen it for a souvenir, have they?” Robert said, and laughed.

  “The tape was broken,” James explained.

  “Your point being?”

  “There were tyre marks leading up the well.”

  “For God’s sake, James.”

  “All activity has stopped out there, and these tyre marks were fresh.”

  “Fresh, were they? Had a best before date on them, had they?” Robert said with a sneer.

  “It was raining all day yesterday and the place was pretty muddy,” James said, patiently.

  Robert looked at his watch before removing it. Carefully, he placed it beside the glass on the locker.

  “It looked to me like someone had dragged something right up to the well and dumped it in. There was mud on the side of the well,” James related.

  “Rubbish.”

  “I’ll say goodnight, sir,” James said.

  “That’s all it was, some chancer dumping rubbish,” Robert said.

  “Night, sir.”

  “See you at breakfast,” Robert said.

  James closed the door quietly, then looked up and down the corridor. The silence was deafening, he thought; there was more life in a graveyard.

  He let himself into his room wondering if anyone actually stayed in the hotel apart from the few travelling salesmen. They booked in once a month, according to his informant, the lovely receptionist who had a thing for Robert. She’d be lucky, because Robert seemed to have turned into a cardboard cut-out.

  A cup of hot chocolate crossed his mind. He would love one right now to wind him down.

  He looked at the tray beside the electric kettle. There were sachets of coffee and tea. Coffee would keep him awake and tea he didn’t fancy; he liked a pot in the morning but not at night.

  He could buzz down to the reception and ask for a mug of hot chocolate to be sent up to him, he thought. No, he would leave the poor girl in peace.

  Tomorrow, he would buy a box of those little sachets of drinking chocolate from Lilly in the corner shop, and a packet of Hobnobs. Hot chocolate and Hobnobs, a little bit of heaven in peace and quiet.

  Robert had his brandy, and he would have his chocolate and Hobnobs.

  CHAPTER 20

  James joined Robert at the table near the window. Their usual spot had been taken up by a couple who looked like they were on their honeymoon. They were holding hands, and totally ignoring the food in front of them.

  “My head feels like it’s had a concrete block dropped on it from a huge height,” Robert said, moaning.

  “Sorry about that, sir,” James said.

  “No need for you to be sorry, it was self-inflicted.”

  “They say a greasy fry-up is a good cure for a hangover, and a couple of glasses of tomato juice,” James said.

  “And that is something we are guaranteed to get here,” Robert said, gruffly.

  The waitress smiled down at them, with her notebook in hand and black biro poised, ready for action.

  “Usual, is it?” she prompted.

  Robert threw his eyes up to heaven.

  “The usual for both of us, and a glass of tomato juice,” James said.

  “If I don’t get out of this bloody kip of a place, and out of this godforsaken town soon, I’ll crack up,” Robert said with a groan.

  “Are you missing a certain somebody?” James dared to ask the question.

  “No, I’m not,” Robert said with a scowl.

  “Sorry, sir, none of my business.”

  “Now that you’ve brought her up, she’d be furious if she knew that those two latchicos she left in charge of The Crier are sitting on their hands. The harmless report of the bodies in the well. And that headline was so childish,” Robert said.

  “Ding dong bell, pussy’s in the well.” James laughed. He did, as it happened, think it was a great title, but he wasn’t going to voice his opinion to the bear with the sore head seated opposite him. Past experience had taught him that there were times when it was best to keep one’s mouth shut.

  “Oh, my head,” Robert moaned. “I will never ever, and I really mean it…”

  “Have you thought anymore about what I told you last night?” James asked, interrupting.

  “Please, shut up, James. Please, don’t utter another sound until I get a gallon of coffee inside me. I’m in the form for giving someone a right tongue-lashing, and there is every chance I might do it.”

  “Sorry,” James said.

  “Wi
ll you stop using that word?”

  The food arrived: eggs, bacon, sausages and black pudding basking in a greasy sauna for Robert. Scrambled eggs, which were a pastel shade of yellow, for James. A rack of toast and a pot of coffee for Robert, a pot of tea for James, and a tall tumbler of tomato juice complete with ice.

  James poured out his tea and took a mouthful.

  “How do you drink black tea?” Robert asked.

  “I have an aversion to milk in hot liquids,” James replied.

  “Reaction?”

  “No, aversion.”

  Robert proceeded to cut one of the sausages on his plate into small pieces and James had to avert his eyes from the grease oozing out of it. It was enough to put you right off food for life. He studied the runny yellow mass on his own plate and decided there and then that he would fork one little morsel into his mouth just to make it look like it was fine. He could put a slice of toast over the rest of it on the plate to make it look like he had consumed it all.

  “As I said, that spread in The Crier was embarrassing,” Robert said.

  James felt he had to say something Robert would want to hear and said, “Speculation, speculation, speculation.”

  “At least Maggie Lehane was better than that,” Robert admitted.

  “Will she come back to resume her former role, do you think? If not now, maybe sometime in the future?” James asked.

  “Back to this sleepy town? No, I don’t think so. Maggie Lehane has seen the bright lights and she is hooked.”

  “Would you live here again, sir?”

  “In Magnerstown? Not in a million years, my dear James.”

  “I actually like it here,” James said.

  “You know something? I think this hotel should be declared unfit to operate,” Robert said, complaining.

  “It’s the only place in town where you can stay, apart from that Bed and Breakfast down the road,” James said.

  “What’s it called, Ach nah what?”

  “Ach nah Sheen.”

  “So, what’s that in English?” Robert asked.

  “Achnasheen is a small village in Scotland, according to a certain search engine. Don’t know how the crowd here in town came up with it, but I could ask them, if you want to know,” James offered.

  “That wouldn’t be number one on my need-to-know list.”

  “The thing about B&Bs is you don’t have much privacy, and they don’t have a bar, if a bar was something you’d be looking for,” James remarked.

  “I’d feel claustrophobic, at least. As you said, there are a few extras here, bad as it is,” Robert said.

  The smell and look of the excuse for food on Robert’s plate was making James queasy, so in order to distract himself he asked a question. “So, what’s next on our agenda?”

  Robert downed a cup of coffee and promptly refilled it.

  “Is everything alright for you?” the waitress said, appearing out of nowhere.

  She had never asked that before. What was she up to? James wondered.

  “Are you any good at finding missing persons?” she whispered.

  James felt he had to say something, seeing she was looking directly at him. “Depends,” he said.

  The waitress looked around as if she was making sure nobody was within earshot. Then she divulged that a guest had gone missing from their room.

  “Gone off without paying the bill?” James asked.

  “Counsellor John Hanton, it is,” the waitress said.

  Robert came to life. “The fellow whose wife threw him out.”

  “Him, yes.”

  “The wife probably rang him to tell him she was taking him back, so he hightailed it back in case she changed her mind,” James said.

  “Can we have another pot of tea over here?” The smiling couple was calling.

  “He could have done a runner with his lover,” Robert said.

  “A lover,” James said, and laughed.

  “Didn’t I tell you about my encounter with her?” Robert asked.

  “No, but you can tell me now,” James replied.

  “She mistook my room for his, said her name was Hanne, something or other. I was a bit inebriated, if you get my drift. No, I remember now, McGrath, Hanne McGrath.”

  “Queen Hanne of Belgium,” James said, and laughed.

  “I don’t know what you are talking about, but if it makes sense to you, James, then it’s alright,” Robert said.

  “That explains it all, wife and lover in pursuit of our esteemed counsellor. He’s done a runner alright,” James said.

  “Wife and lover, the ugly bugs ball of a man, what do they see in him, for God’s sake,” Robert asked.

  “There was a gossip columnist called Dorothy Parker who had a lot to say about ugly men,” James said.

  The delegated spokesperson for the smiling couple repeated their request for another pot of tea.

  “They have had two pots already and not poured out one drop,” the waitress said with a snarl.

  “Don’t mind them, just bring me another pot of coffee, and I would be very happy if it was a bit hotter this time, if that’s not too much of a tall order,” Robert said.

  James cringed.

  “I will make it myself, and it will be so hot you will wish you were on the Titanic when the iceberg hit it,” the waitress replied.

  James couldn’t help but admire the waitress. She certainly put Robert in his place. How did she and her counterparts put up with it, slaving over disgruntled guests? No way could he work in the hospitality business; he wouldn’t last five minutes. He would be shown the door pronto, because as soon as somebody complained about something, he would lose his head. If he came up against someone complaining about something not being hot enough, he would just dump the replacement into their laps. Hope that’s hot enough for you, he’d say into their shocked faces. But would he do all that? Of course he wouldn’t; but no harm in thinking that he might be brave enough.

  “She is some cheeky mare, that one,” Robert said.

  James nodded in agreement because he felt he had to.

  “Did you notice anything?” Robert asked.

  “I noticed a lot of things,” James said, and laughed.

  “I deliberately said that about the McGrath woman calling to my room looking for Hanton. It pays to put the cat among the pigeons. Hope our little waitress spreads the news, which she will, of course,” Robert said, grinning.

  The call went up once more from the honeymoon table. “Where’s our tea?”

  “Do you hear that hen-pecked fuck,” Robert said.

  “I hear him, loud and clear,” James said, smiling.

  The waitress tapped the new bridegroom on the shoulder. “I’ll bring two pots this time, one each, how about that?” she said.

  “She’s good,” James remarked.

  “You asked me what was on the agenda for today,” Robert said.

  “I did indeed, sir.”

  “I am too sick to even function, so I am going back to bed, simply because I have every faith in you keeping calm and carrying on, James,” Robert said.

  “No problem.”

  Robert picked up the tomato juice and took a slug.

  “You know something? This is nice,” he said.

  “A bloody Mary without the vodka,” James said, and laughed.

  “Don’t be putting ideas into my head, aren’t I bad enough? Now I’m off and you won’t see me until I feel human again.”

  CHAPTER 21

  “Mrs Hanton, I wonder if you and I might have a quick chat,” James asked.

  “Your face looks familiar, have we met?”

  “Not officially, except I was here the day you...”

  “The day I threw that two-timing yoke out, I remember now, you were with that other fellow with the grouchy face.”

  “My boss, Detective Inspector Robert Carroll.”

  “Come in, I can see from the corner of my eye that that woman next door is on duty. Valley of the squinting windows, this
place is.”

  James stepped into the hall.

  “I have just made a pot of tea, and a batch of scones are cooling down, if you would like to join me?”

  “Sounds right up my street,” James replied.

  “Sit down, make yourself at home.”

  James stared at the spread on the table. Crème and raspberry jam in little pots and the most luscious looking scones he had ever seen were displayed on a cake stand.

  “Like what you see?” Mrs Hanton asked.

  “Need you ask?” James said.

  “I am living it up, because my husband is the meanest old skinflint of all times. He thought nothing of using up stale bread; made great toast, he would always say when he was living here. I can’t believe I’ve finally got rid of him.”

  James savoured every morsel of the first scone and all the trimmings, and then the second washed down with Earl Grey tea, before declaring the reason why he was there.

  “Your husband, John Hanton,” he began.

  “Please tell me he is dead.”

  “No, I can’t tell you that, but what I can tell you is, he is missing.”

  “The council offices rang me, I must admit, wanting to know if he was sick or something, because he hadn’t turned up to do whatever it is he does there.”

  “So, what did you tell them?”

  “I could have said he’s gone off with his bit on the side, but I didn’t want to sound like the embittered wife.”

  “He seems to have done a runner from the hotel,” James said.

  “Well, as I said, he has probably gone off with that woman.”

  “No, he hasn’t,” James said.

  “Let me get my head around this, you are saying that he has done a disappearing act, is that it?”

  “Looks like it,” James replied.

  “Well, he hasn’t come grovelling to me, so where is he?”

  “Mrs Hanton, I would appreciate it if you didn’t mention to my boss that I came here to see you. He might think I am losing the run of myself operating behind his back, if you get my meaning.”

  “I’m good at keeping secrets,” Mrs Hanton said, and smiled broadly.

  * * *

  “If I could have a word, sir,” James said when he met Robert at breakfast the following morning. The honeymoon couple had departed, so they got their usual table, which seemed to please Robert.