by Jack Benton
Rather than take Slim’s request seriously, Alan had opted to play a practical joke, the kind he might have done back at Harrogate: shaving part of Slim’s shoelaces so they broke during a march, or filling his boots with chili powder.
The package’s contents would deal with a padlock, all right.
Alan had sent him a pair of police-grade bolt cutters.
After apologising for the delivery’s inconvenience, Slim had Mrs. Greyson make him a sandwich, which she did with a grumbling reluctance even though he offered to pay. Taking just the sandwich and a fold-up rain mac, he headed out for a stroll around the village, needing to clear his head, to give himself time to think. As he reached the shop, a figure bustled out, bumping into him.
‘Sorry!’ A pause. ‘Oh, it’s you.’
‘June.’
She looked no better in daylight than she did under the pub’s gloomy lighting. As though aware he was appraising her, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and rubbed at a blemish on her cheek.
‘I was wondering what happened to you. It’s been a few days. Looks like you’ve been in the wars.’
For a moment Slim thought she meant literally, then he remembered the bruises that were now beginning to fade.
‘Pretty easy to hurt yourself on Bodmin Moor,’ he said. ‘Rocks sticking up all over the place.’
She nodded, but as she made to push past him, he added, ‘Do you want to get a coffee? Is there somewhere round here you can do that?’
June looked at him as though he’d just stepped off a plane in a foreign land. ‘Where do you think this is, Plymouth?’
They ended up sitting on a tattered bench with one rotten leg on a patch of wild verge where two country lanes intersected, drinking two cans of Coke bought from the shop. June, in a skirt, sat awkwardly forward, as though afraid that the long grass reclaiming the bench’s feet hid rats and other nasties. Slim, who had lived alongside plenty of worse things during his years in the military, sat back and enjoyed the view through a gateway opposite the cluster of houses surrounding the church, which made up Penleven’s core.
‘I’m trying to find out what happened to Amos Birch,’ Slim said. ‘I guess there’s no point hiding it. I’m not sure whether it’s something I can figure out, but I plan to try.’
June sighed. ‘Before my time, was Amos. Ninety-five he disappeared?’
‘Ninety-six.’
‘Yeah, see, I didn’t move here til oh-two.’
‘No?’
June gave a bitter laugh. Slim said nothing, waiting for the story to come.
‘I’m from another nowhere just off the A30 near Saltash. Den—my husband—was a traveling salesman. Insurance. He might have been Superman for all I cared. We got hitched, moved here.’ She shrugged. ‘House was cheap. Bit of a dead end, but I liked it. It was all right at first but we weren’t here a year before Den started to change. I wondered if there was something in the water. He started getting short-tempered, had no time for me, was always off fishing down the Camel estuary with his mates or hanging out in the bookies in Camelford when he wasn’t on the road. I got the job in the Crown to get out of his way of an evening because I got tired of the arguments over stupid little things. Wasn’t no surprise when he went off somewhere and didn’t come back.’
‘He disappeared?’
June laughed. ‘No, no such mystery there. He had another woman up near Bristol. He’d been staying with her on business trips since before we moved down here, then one day he just moved in for good. I got a phone call one day to say he wasn’t coming back, but to be honest, I wasn’t all that surprised. I had savings from my old dad’s passing, so I bought him out of the house. Good riddance. Been alone in there ever since, but you know, you get used to it.’
Slim sensed it would only take a word to receive a home-visit invite, but he resisted the call of his own seeping loneliness.
‘So you don’t know much about the Birch family?’
‘Just the rumours. They all came out again around the time of Mary’s passing back in oh-six.’ She smiled. ‘I worked in the pub, you know.’
‘I can guess,’ Slim said. ‘Tell me what you know about Celia.’
‘The Birch girl? Well, I call her a girl but she wouldn’t be much younger than me. Heard she lives off over Tavistock way.’
Slim gave a non-committal shrug.
‘By my time she wasn’t round these parts much. Holed up nursing that old mother of hers through her last days, I suppose. I never saw her close up, just at a distance a couple of times. Soon as Mary passed and the farm was sold off, she was gone for good. I think she got tired of this place. Vipers’ pits of rumours, these little villages. And she had a reputation.’
‘What reputation?’
‘Well, I don’t like to tell tales—’ here Slim gave a vehement shake of the head while hiding a smile ‘—but in her youth she put it about a bit. Worked in the pub, she did, and rumour had it she was anyone’s around closing. Especially if you’d not gone with her before. Not a man in the village who didn’t go with young Celia at some point, so they say.’
‘So she was kind of the village bike?’
June gave a nervous laugh. ‘Yeah, I don’t like to say it, but that would be about the best description. Can’t blame her, really; not much else to do round here.’ As though figuring she might as well try her luck, she put a hand on Slim’s thigh. ‘Chance would be a fine thing.’
Certain a couple of drinks would make it possible, Slim cooled the temptation by remembering the potential aftermath.
‘I have PTSD,’ he said.
June snapped her hand away. ‘Oh, like from the war? You’re not one of those guys who goes psycho, are you?’
Slim smiled. ‘No. Not from the war, from my last girlfriend. She tried to kill me.’
‘I won’t ask.’
‘Don’t.’
After an awkward moment in which they both sipped their Cokes, Slim said, ‘But Michael came along and calmed Celia down?’
‘So I heard. They were a couple for a while and it got serious. Then Amos pulled a runner and Celia broke it off. After that, she withdrew and you hardly ever saw her. I mean, it’s probably not as sinister as it sounds. She was nineteen, I heard, when Amos left. She was probably working in Plymouth. Turned her back on Penleven, had enough of the rumours and the small-town mentality. It’s easy to do. I mean, she lived over in Trelee. As easy to pop into Camelford for groceries as to come down here. Plenty of people round here who don’t take any part in the community. I guess they all have real lives.’
‘What do you think happened?’
‘Me? To Amos?’ June laughed. ‘I think he went off with some woman,’ she said. ‘I mean, why wouldn’t he? He was, what, mid-fifties? Not too old to start again, is it, if you’ve got a dragon at home. Daughter’s old enough to lead her own life. And, I mean, it’s not like he wouldn’t have had the chance, is it? I heard his clocks were worth thousands, and he could fix anything. Heard he used to fix the beat-up old thing over the pub bar, got it running when it hadn’t run in years. Stopped again now, though.’
Slim smiled. ‘What about Mary? She was in a wheelchair, wasn’t she?’
June gave a dismissive flap of her hand. ‘Ah, he could have got her a home help if he was feeling guilty, could have left her a bit of his fortune and then just got on with it. She got the farm, after all, didn’t she?’
‘But to just vanish like that?’
‘I heard he wasn’t one for confrontation.’
‘Would someone who didn’t like confrontation do something as drastic as run off with another woman? Wouldn’t he have stayed put, kept it secret?’
June smiled. ‘You’re quite the fantasist, aren’t you?’
‘I’m worse after a few drinks.’
June laughed. Rubbing her arm against the chilly breeze, she stood up. ‘I’m afraid, Slim, that I have to go get ready for work. It’s been a pleasure talking to you. I hope you show up in the pub again som
etime soon. And if you ever fancy a nightcap … I make great tea.’
Slim was about to wave her goodbye when a thought came to mind. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small notebook. ‘It can get lonely up at that guesthouse,’ he said. ‘Can you write me your address, just in case I really want that tea?’
June cocked her head, a hint of colour in her cheeks. ‘What’s this, your little black book?’
Slim shrugged. ‘The cover’s blue.’
‘A clever disguise.’ June scribbled down her address then tucked the pen suggestively into her blouse before pulling it out and handing it back. ‘I’ll keep my back door off the latch just in case. Quite fancy me a night stalker.’
They shared an awkward smile as though unsure how much of their conversation was jest, then June nodded.
‘I’ve really got to go, Slim.’
Slim nodded. ‘Your husband was a fool, June. I’m already looking forward to my next pint of pisswater and the pleasure of your company.’
June smiled, then turned and walked away, not looking back. Slim watched her until she was out of sight, pondering her words. So much rumour. He was certain the truth was in there somewhere, like a caged animal fighting to get out.
31
It was just after seven when the door of the middle terrace opened and Michael appeared, still buttoning up a dress shirt under the unzipped jacket he wore. As he reached the gate that opened onto the road, Slim stood up straight from where he had been leaning against the waist-high stone wall that fronted the three council houses.
‘Hey, Michael,’ he said. ‘I was wondering if you could help me. It’s Friday, right? If I wanted to hit a club, would it be better to go to Camelford or Bude?’
Michael stared at him with his brow bunched into a frown. ‘Are you stalking me? How did you know where I live?’
‘Not hard when people are so willing to talk,’ Slim said as Michael came through the gate and walked up to him. It made him feel bad to admit it, but something about Michael got under his skin. Michael had the fading good looks of a former boyband singer two decades past his sell-by date, with the physique of a man who could handle himself in a bar fight. Slim, who had enjoyed his share of punch-ups during his military service, wondered how a ruck between them would end, and chided himself for feeling tempted to find out.
‘What do you want from me?’
‘Tell me about Celia and you.’
Michael gritted his teeth. ‘You’ve got a nerve—’
Slim lifted a hand. ‘Save it. I’m working for someone who wants Amos Birch found. You don’t have to talk to me, but if you have nothing to hide it won’t hurt, will it?’
Michael shook his head. ‘You don’t need to go dredging all this up. You’re going to upset a lot of people talking about the Birches. As far as people around here are concerned, that’s old news.’
‘Why? If you’ve got nothing to hide, why does it matter?’
Michael came a couple of steps closer, but Slim held his ground.
‘I’m warning you,’ Michael said. ‘Get out of my way.’
‘You know what I think?’ Slim said, standing up straighter, letting the remnants of his army stature do the imposing for him. ‘I think you knocked him off. I think he objected to you and Celia. I think you were an angry young man who thought he could do anything and get away with it.’ At Michael’s incredulous look, he added, ‘I’m not saying it was intentional. Perhaps words got a little heated, and you blew your top. You hit him with something heavy. It happens. Believe me, I know.’
‘You don’t know anything,’ Michael snapped.
‘That’s why I’m standing here. Come on, Michael. Where’s the body?’
‘What body? I didn’t kill him!’
‘So why did Celia blame you for his disappearance?’
Michael lifted a closed fist, and for a few seconds Slim thought, Here we go, here’s the fight I’ve been baiting him for, then Michael turned and swung at open air. A couple more air punches and a howl of frustration, and he slumped, leaning on the fence, head bowed.
‘You won’t leave it, will you?’
Slim felt quietly relieved. His face still felt fragile from the drunken dust-up in Plymouth, and Michael’s air-punches looked like they would hurt.
‘Tell me what you know. That’s all.’
Michael gritted his teeth as though about to scream. Instead, he said, ‘I asked her to marry me. That’s all. She was the only girl I’ve ever wanted. And guess what? Miracle of miracles, she said yes. Then that bastard had to go and walk away. She broke it off, literally cut me off dead. We weren’t even friends anymore. I had the police around, questioning me. She blamed me, she had to have. I mean, what was I supposed to think?’
‘She told you it was your fault?’
Michael looked up. Tears shone in his eyes, and Slim felt a pang of regret. ‘I’ve spoken to her exactly once since the day I asked her to marry me. She said I was a mistake. We were a mistake.’
‘And you just let it go?’
‘Of course not. But next thing I know, I’ve got police at the door. I was their number one suspect. I got held for three days, had them practically squeezing a confession out of me. That cooled me a little, and by the time I was let go, I’d lost my nerve. Sure, I tried to contact her. I went round there, but she’d gone, off to college somewhere. I saw her at a distance from time to time, but I could never get close, and I was scared, you know?’
‘Scared they’d try to pin something on you?’
‘I was twenty years old at the time. I thought I loved Celia, but the idea of being banged up for the rest of my life for murder … no thanks.’
‘But without a body—’
‘One could have shown up. How was I supposed to know that twenty-odd years later he’d still be missing?’
‘So what did you do?’
‘What do you think? I kept my head down, my mouth shut, and I tried not to think about … her.’
Slim nodded. ‘So you asked her to marry you, yeah? Why Celia? I’ve heard she was a little … loose.’
Michael shrugged. ‘People can say what they want about her. It was all lies. Celia was a good person caught up in a bad situation.’
Slim frowned. ‘Tell me about this bad situation.’
Michael rubbed his eyes and shook his head. ‘I don’t have time for any of this. I left it alone a long time ago. Why’d you have to come around digging this up?’
‘Like I said, someone wants to know what happened to Amos Birch.’
‘Who?’
‘I’m sorry, but right now I can’t tell you that. Maybe in time, if I get anywhere. Answer me one more question. Do you think Celia could have killed him? You know, something like ninety percent of murders are done by a relative or close friend—’
Michael gave a bitter laugh. ‘Don’t quote statistics at me. I watch the same crime documentaries that you do. No, I don’t think she killed him. I thought she loved me, but she idolised her father. He was everything to her. Now, I could totally believe she knocked off her mother. That woman was a dragon in a metal chair.’
‘Mary?’
‘Yeah. She ruled Celia like a dictator, had a whip over her back.’
‘She beat her?’
Michael waved his hand again. ‘Oh, I don’t know if she meant literally. Celia said it was all about image. Keeping up an appearance for her father’s reputation, and that Celia was shaming the family by not being better at school, not being a perfect daughter. For his part, he didn’t seem to care as long as he was left alone with his machines.’
‘Clocks?’
‘That’s what he sold, but he made all sorts, I’ve heard. Wind-up toys, that kind of thing. Mechanical stuff. Things he built and sold off to specialist collectors overseas. The man was a magician with his hands. In Penleven he was a legend when I was growing up, the kind of guy whose house you’d walk past and be like, ‘that’s where that guy lives’. I mean, how was Celia supposed to live up
to that?’
‘So you can understand her behavior?’
‘She went with a couple of guys, whatever. Not like most of us wouldn’t play the field if we had a chance. Weren’t you ever a teenager?’
Slim nodded. ‘Once. Drank my way through it.’
‘I liked her because she didn’t give a damn what people thought of her. Free spirit, that kind of thing. Girl like that shouldn’t have looked twice at a guy like me, but she did, and I wasn’t about to let that go.’
‘What you said about her mother … what did you mean by that?’
‘Mary Birch was a tyrant. She had MS, and made sure everyone she met knew what an inconvenience it was, and how the whole world was responsible. To be quite honest, from the way Celia described her and from what I saw, I’m surprised old Amos lasted so long. Someone should have put a knife in the old crone’s back years before he ran off.’
32
Slim stared at the wad of printouts in his hand as he turned out of the guesthouse entrance, thinking both that it was time to discuss costs with Celia and to think about hiring a secretary.
For once it was a clear day with a bright overhead sun, even though the air had turned cold. Slim walked up through the village and took the Trelee road, waiting until he got to the bench on the verge near Worth Farm. He sat down, smiled at the view over Bodmin Moor, then got to work.
Company information on every watch- or clockmaker he could find online, vast reams of information on the process of watch- and clock-making, the types of materials used, as well as anything he could find on Amos Birch: online sales listings, reviews, promotional material. There was less than he’d hoped, but still far more than he could get through in a couple of hours. It was the kind of trawling, needle-in-a-haystack clue-hunting drudge work an incident room team would assign to its junior officers. Slim wondered absently if June would be interested in a career change: she had the kind of face that would scare off irate customers, and if he showed off enough of his incredible detective skills he could instill in her the kind of adulation his fragile confidence needed.
