by Trisha Kelly
Rosie stood up and opened the bottom half of the stable door. She grabbed the ball and playfully threw it outside and quickly closed the door behind the playful pup. As lovely as he was, he was a distraction when she was working. “You do realise ladies, that your help is greatly appreciated. And well done, Amy, for staying with Gladys until she got her results. With all the confidentiality in the NHS it wouldn’t have been easy for us to get the information.”
“I was genuinely concerned for her, but she gave the doctor full permission to speak in front of me as the nearest person she has to a relative. It seems her husband has ‘disappeared’. The doctor had waited six hours for him and then took a walk to see Albert at his house. There was no-one home and he hasn’t been to the hospital. The doctor’s wife told me that, after I rang the surgery and asked if he was coming to sit with his wife as I had to go home soon.”
“So, what did the hospital say?” Rosie asked.
“Traces of high laxative doses in the stool coupled with far too much rhubarb was the cause of the upset stomach. Higher than expected blood sugar levels and they thought she’d been having higher doses of her medications than she should. No plant toxins or anything of that nature. Luckily a scan showed no damage to her organs. They will be keeping her in for observation and carrying out further tests. I expect with a few days tlc and a balanced diet she will feel a lot better. Gladys said she doesn’t take laxatives.” Everyone knew what that meant.
“I think if he intended to kill his wife, he would have done it by now, one way or another,” Matt suggested.
“I agree. He likes to torment her and cause her distress; he definitely has a strange nature. He’s rude and avoids me every time I go there,” Amy added. “Did you find out about the plants?”
“Yes. As suspected, all potentially harmful if not lethal,” Anna said.
“The pictures of the notes were scribblings really, taken from the fictional book. It confirms our thoughts about this weekend and no doubt the ‘killer’ thinks he’s been instructed to use a poisoned chalice. Maybe a lethal dose of something added to a drink? The Pawn who kills the King. All that sort of thing,” Rosie added.
“We shot this earlier, my visual and Rosie’s audio!” Anna placed her ipad down in the centre of the table and pressed play so they could all see Albert Winston trespassing in the grounds of Bromington Heights. Matt was very impressed, he also was trying not to laugh at the running commentary, constantly chewing his gums.
Rosie and Anna were very impressed with their ‘crime’ video.
“Wodehouse and Rose strike again! You’ll be investing in body cameras and spy equipment next,” Matt ribbed.
“What a great idea. They do pens, lighters, sunglasses, some really cool surveillance video phones and…”
“You’ve seriously been looking all this up, Anna?”
“Yes, Boo-boo. We should do this together, with help from our friendly ghost of course!”
“Well ladies, I must get home; thank you for the delicious pasta, Rosie. It’s been a long day. See you in the morning.” Amy stood and headed for the door, she did look tired after her early start.
Rosie saw her out, thanking her for all her help. Anna gathered her things and put her plate in the dishwasher. “I must be off too. See you tomorrow, Rosie. Night, Matt.”
“Good job, Anna. Well done. Catch you later.” Matt was glad to be alone with Rosie, there was something he had to tell her. In private.
“Come and sit down, there’s things you need to know, Rosie. But, promise me, this stays between us, if your dad knew I’d spoken to you, well, I would be betraying his trust,” Matt looked concerned.
Rosie rubbed his leg, “what is it? You can tell me.”
“A long time ago, your mother wrote to Walter. A begging letter asking for financial help. Anyway, he had a little money left from the sale of the pearls, which he’d never considered his own and he sent her a cheque for £2,500. He told her it was a one-off and not to contact him again. He couldn’t tell you or Jane for fear of you thinking him weak. I suppose he had to tell someone, so he confided in me. He was waiting for the next just cause to spend the money on and figured it might as well be her, after all, well… we won’t go into the ins and outs of the pearl story.”
“That’s Dad all over, I suppose. So, you think the letter addressed to me is some sort of a con, don’t you? This is why you’re telling me now. My mother isn’t sick at all.”
“I don’t know her medical history, but the letter didn’t come from her, not this time.”
“Then, who?”
“A conman. Someone who knows you well and the address of the Garden Centre and who is close enough to your mother to know all about her situation.”
“My brother? But how? That letter would never have gone through the system. He’s in prison.”
“Not anymore. He won an appeal against the length of his sentence, with the help of an expensive, untoward lawyer. He called out for help to his real father and he answered. Anyway, I’ve traced the mobile phone number.”
“But the phone belongs to a male nurse called Daryl.”
“No, Rosie. It’s registered to your half-brother, Michael Smith, who also happens to be staying at your mother’s address for the moment. My guess is, he is trying to fleece you and then he intends to fly off, emigrate to Australia. He had to have an address to go to on his release and he was left with little choice than to go to his mother’s flat.”
“Because I sold the bungalow. You think she is ill?”
“There’s only so much I can find on the system, but her benefits records states she has been admitted to a council run care home. ”
“I see.” Rosie went quiet; it was a lot to take in and she didn’t have an answer.
“But she doesn’t need funding for private care then, does she?”
“No. She is entitled to free social care and medication.”
“And my brother is using her possible life-threatening illness as a means to get rich. I want you to help me with this one, Matt. What happens if he is found guilty of fraud?”
“He’s out on license, so he would probably get a £5,000 fine, three months imprisonment and have to serve the remainder of the reduced sentence too. Of course, the more of a criminal record he has, the harder it will be for him to emigrate.”
“Have you told my father about any of this?”
“No. I will help you sort it out. As best we can.”
“Good, he doesn’t need to know. Jane is a lovely woman and their wedding is under three weeks away. My mother ruined our entire lives and I don’t want her spoiling their life. I’m sorry she might be ill, but I don’t want to see her. I’ve made my mind up about that. If the shoe were on the other foot she would not care.”
“This is why I wanted to talk to you privately, Rosie. I can pull up the phone records from him to Anna and you have the letter as proof.”
“The letter, yes. But the envelope is in her handwriting, I’d know it anywhere. I can’t say if the actual letter is his writing or not, I couldn’t be sure.”
“Which doesn’t mean she’s involved, he could have made up any excuse to ask her to write the Garden Centre address on an envelope.”
“Or she could be involved. Even if she’s on her deathbed she could still be trying to get at me and make sure her precious son is set up for life.”
“Well, it’s certainly been an eventful day one way or another. Between the two of us we’ve gathered quite a lot of potential evidence. What say I let Bear in and we cuddle it out… with a tub of ice-cream of course.”
“Sounds perfect, just what I need.” Rosie pulled her knees up under her chin, absently rocking backwards and forwards; something she did from a young age. Her mother still managed to get under her skin, even now.
Two days away
Albert Winston was nowhere to be found. Not at his allotment, hiding in the garden shed, nowhere along the harbour or anywhere else in Bromington-on-sea.
“I’m telling you he has no relatives and I haven’t the foggiest idea where he might be, Constable. His brother died seven years ago, and his mother passed away more than thirty years ago. Cancer it was, took her far too young. Of course, they didn’t know their father. He scarpered when they were both young. Took off on a bus one day and never came back. That’s what Albie said anyway. What do you want him for?” Gladys frowned, she was very confused.
“We have a few questions to ask him, Mrs. Winston.” Bradley smiled, popping the pencil behind his ear and closing his notepad. “Would you like another cup of tea? I’m sure I could do with one.” The young copper had come to realise perhaps Gladys wasn’t the sharpest pencil in the box, as they say. She really had no idea of the extent of harm her husband had purposely caused her. Dismissing it all as old age, aches and pains, that sort of thing.
Amy popped her head around the door. “Let me get that for you. Hello, Gladys, I’ve bought you round a spot of lunch. Fresh cooked ham with salad and a nice piece of madeira cake. Would you like some cake with your tea, Constable Stimpson?”
Neither of them had heard Amy come in, Gladys did have her TV on rather loud.
“Thank you, that would be lovely. Do you need a hand?” Bradley replied. He hadn’t been in a hurry to go anywhere after Matthew had instructed the team to keep an eye on the place, now Mrs. Winston was home again.
“That would be very kind of you. I’ve got my hands full with shopping I need to bring in,” Amy smiled.
“How much do I owe you, dear?” Gladys called out.
“Nothing today, Gladys. Us ladies have rallied around a bit. Liz and Iris have sent fresh bread, cakes and rolls from their bakery. The B & B have made up a breakfast hamper for you and some home-made preserves. The butcher has sent some pork sausages, lamb chops. We have fresh milk from the newsagents and a paper.”
“Well, well… I don’t know what to say,” Gladys dabbed at her moist eyes, quiet overcome by the kindness the people of Bromington-on-sea had shown her. She even had a large vase of fragrant flowers on the sideboard and a get well soon card signed by many well-wishers.
“Just being neighbourly, dear. There are plenty of kind folk around here. It might get a little noisy soon. If it’s all the same to you, the council are coming around this afternoon to give your garden a bit of a go. I will stay here and give your cottage a good spring clean for you, seeing as you’ve been away, and you need to have a good rest.”
Amy took the groceries out of the bags and shut the kitchen door to talk to the policeman in private.
“Have you still not found him then?”
“Not a trace. We’ve had the dogs out searching in the woods. Nothing.” Bradley’s eyes fixed on the groceries.
“Best we don’t mention to Gladys about the locksmith changing the locks earlier. There’s no more key on a chain either. Those who need to know are aware of where the new key is kept.” Amy popped the kettle on.
“Nor the fact we’ve had bolts put on the top and bottom of the side gate. We’ve cleared the shed out and Walter dug out the plants from the back yesterday. He and Derek dug up everything from Albert’s allotment two days ago. All of it went up in flames in a small bonfire.”
“I’ve got a bag full of cleaning stuff here. I’m sure of killing more than 99% of germs lurking around this place. The house will be scrubbed from top to bottom and then some. You know the doctor thinks her husband was deliberately harming her. He can’t come back here,” Amy insisted.
“Don’t worry about that. We are keeping an eye on the place around the clock, but she doesn’t need to know that. If it’s all the same with you, I’m going to go back to the station for an hour or two. Don’t hesitate to ring, and keep the doors locked. I’ll come back around 3 o’clock and take over.”
“Here, don’t forget your cake, Constable Stimpson!”
“Any chance of another couple of slices? They’ll love this with an afternoon cuppa at the station!”
“Take the whole cake. The ladies from the bakers gave her two. In a few days I’ll collect her pension and do a regular shop for her. Then we’re arranging a home-help, hot meals, that sort of a thing.”
Bradley slipped away with a few more goodies in a bag. This was a far cry from his last location where stab vests were part of everyday wear. But it wouldn’t pay to be complacent. After all, it was a serious threat hanging in the air even if the source was a psychic prediction and the ‘murderer’ was a fruit loop pensioner with a love for macabre books. Murder was murder, whichever way it played out.
His radio sprang to life. “Nick, where are you? Come in.”
“Oscar, I’m on the way back. I have cakes, put the kettle on!”
“No time for all that. Put your foot down, Bradley.”
“What’s up, Sarge?”
“Possible sighting of Albert Winston. Head for the reservoir at the far end of the pits.”
“The old fishing quarry?”
“One and the same. Over and out.”
The delicious smells wafting from the carrier bag were causing the young policeman to salivate as he sped along the country lanes. He’d overslept and breakfast was one slice of burned toast, scraped and rushed on the way out of the door earlier.
The barrier was locked across the private road. Matthew skidded to a halt, just in time. Less than a minute later, Bradley pulled in from the other direction.
“So, what do we have then, Sarge?”
“Couple of locals who were night fishing. Just surfaced after a bit of sleep. They said a man was fishing from inside his tent practically. Elderly, and they saw the silhouette of a wheelbarrow when he hung a couple of tilly lamps inside it. He wasn’t fishing for sport either; he was cooking them on a camping gas stove.”
“Well it must be public knowledge by now the police are looking for Albert Winston.”
“Word’s getting around, one of their wives suggested her husband phoned it in, just in case.”
“Should we approach with caution, Sergeant Walker? He might be armed with deadly nightshade!”
“The sooner we arrest him and take him into custody, the better it will be for Gladys. Rosie too, come to that. She has a few things on her plate at the moment. At least then we can enjoy our meal on Saturday in peace and get shot of James Sallow. He can come out of hiding and go and stay at one of the pubs.”
“Run that by me one more time. Saturday night and I get the company of a stunning young lady? It’d be even better without the rich man in tow! Four’s company!”
Matt and Bradley got a step on, creeping in silence through the undergrowth, determined to catch Albert Winston unawares, before he had a chance to do any real damage.
Matthew’s face fell. There was nobody at the fishing pit. “ We’re too late. Look… he’s gone.”
Bradley stared at the pile of cold ashes tipped in the reeds. The trace of a single tyre tread in wet mud disappeared in the long grass.
“He could have gone anywhere.” Bradley groaned.
“Wait in your car, Bradley. Cover the entrance. I’m going back for the dogs. They’ll soon sniff him out.”
“There’s always the helicopter, Sarge.”
“If we haven’t found him by nightfall we’ll use that option on night vision. We haven’t had this much excitement around here since… well, since last year.”
“All go, isn’t it!” Bradley’s voice hinted at sarcasm.
“Get on the radio and put one of the boys back on watch at the cottage.”
Which is exactly what Bradley did, between devouring a chicken tikka slice and mouth-watering lemon drizzle cake. Oh, if only he had a nice cup of tea to wash it all down.
~
Albert trudged through a shallow fresh-water stream, many miles away from the fishing pits and the reservoir. He’d doubled back on himself and dumped the barrow a long way back. Confident he’d lost the scent trail to any searching dogs barking in the distance. He was now going to hide in plain sight. Somewh
ere they’d already searched. In two days, it would all be over.
Thursday evening
“Do you really think we should do it this way, Anna? It isn’t safe.”
“Well, maybe not a Ouija board as such then. How about you just ask out loud? You know, something like: ‘Hey, Aunt Dorothea, can you give us a bit of a clue about Saturday night. Just to keep us one step ahead’. Or something like that.”
“We could just look in the chest I suppose. A little peek?” Rosie tapped her index finger rapidly, momentarily lost in thought.
“You said you wouldn’t look for at least a year and… well, who’s counting?” Anna’s eyes took on a spark of excitement. “After all, we know James is in danger, we know the day, all we need is a small clue as to the whereabouts of our killer.”
“Wine. Would you like a small glass? There’s something just a tiny bit disturbing about Dorothea’s papers. What if we don’t like what we find?”
“Stay where you are. Red or white?” The devil in Anna was surfacing. Sometimes, Rosie needed just a friendly nudge in the right direction. The chest in the basement was calling and besides, the signs were beginning.
The cat sprang from inside the pram behind the sofa, leapt across the chairback and dug her sharp claws into Rosie’s shoulders before high tailing it to the kitchen. “Ouch, Bumble!” Rosie cried. The bang of the cat flap encouraged Bear to leap from the cushion and chase the distraught moggy. He was much slower and by the time he manoeuvred his large adorable head through the shrinking flap, Bumble was long gone.
Not so the pigeons and small birds, who he took great delight in showing who was boss around here. His continual barking scared them all away. Around and around he ran barking at the wind until he eventually went off for a sniff around the bushes.
“Just look at him, Anna. I don’t think he’ll ever stop being a puppy.”
“Well, Boo-boo, he’s digging again, probably found another muddy bone. Here, while he’s busy take your glass with you. I’d rather read some notes than encourage strange spirits into our home.”
