by Leah Hope
So what about the Sheila look-alike he was all cosied up to on the ferry then, Bridget desperately wanted to ask but of course couldn’t. “I suppose none of us know what really goes on behind closed doors though, maybe it was all for show do you think?” Bridget realised she was going out on a limb but she knew she had to probe a little deeper. If there were skeletons in the Cresswells’ marriage, she was determined to find them.
“Not at all. They were the real deal alright. Then again we didn’t live in each other’s pockets, so who knows.”
“You didn’t socialise much together then?”
“Not really. I don’t entertain much, partly because of the long hours and shift patterns I work but also because I’m on my own. I always had them round for drinks at Christmas, that sort of thing and they would invite me round if they were having a barbecue in the summer. But apart from that, it was just chats over the garden wall. Then of course after Malcolm and Sheila were both made redundant from the council, they got into buying and selling and spent a lot of their spare time on that so they weren’t at home so much.”
“Sounds interesting. What sort of stuff were they selling?”
“Well it started when they were both working. They used to love going to car-boot sales on Sunday mornings. There’s quite a few of them around here, they took me with them once but it wasn’t my cup of tea. Anyway, they got lucky and picked up a few things that they sold on for quite a bit of profit, so when they stopped working, they got into it big time. By then Malcolm had begun to specialise in old toy cars and train sets. Have you ever watched any of these antiques shows on the box? They can go for a fortune you know, but they’ve got to be in good nick. But Malcolm got to know what he was looking for and I think he did quite well at it. Sheila was more interested in old dolls, can’t think why as some of the ones she showed me she’d bought gave me the creeps. Then she got onto old teddy bears, I think it was after something she’d seen on the telly too. The German ones are the ones to look out for apparently.”
“Oh I know the ones you mean, I think they have a little button in their ear.”
“That’s the ones. So by the time they did the rounds of the sales, took pictures of what they’d bought for eBay and then parceled them up and so on, it took up a lot of their time. Sheila said it was worth it though. Their pensions weren’t great she said but what they made from buying and selling meant they had more spare cash than they’d ever had in their lives. A lot of good it’s done them now though” Josie said with a sigh. “Bridget, let me get you some more tea, we’ve been chatting so much I’ve let mine go cold.” Without waiting for an answer, Josie jumped up and switched on the kettle.
“So when was the last time you saw Sheila?” Bridget asked, hoping to perhaps hear that Sheila had been “missing” from her home.
“Well now let me see. Because of my shift patterns, I could sometimes go weeks without seeing her or Malcolm at all. I think the last time I saw her was the beginning of the week the accident happened. I was upstairs changing into my uniform ready to go to work and I noticed Sheila in the garden hanging the washing out. I thought I might pop down after I’d got changed to have a quick chat, but my phone rang and by the time the call had ended, Sheila had gone back into the house. I never saw her again.” Josie picked up a tissue and wiped away a tear.
“I’m sorry Josie, this must be very difficult for you. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Don’t worry, I’m ok Bridget. I just can’t believe I’ll never see her again. I know there was a lot of speculation in the papers about whether Sheila had fallen overboard or had jumped, but if you knew her, she was the last person on earth to take her own life. She had everything going for her, a happy marriage, two great kids, no money worries….”
“What about any health problems? I know that can lead a lot of people to think about ending it all.”
“As far as I was aware, she was in good health. Apart from the arthritis that is. It was in her knees and it had given her quite a bad limp. She used to joke that it was from an old ski-ing accident as she thought it sounded a bit more glamorous!”
Bridget’s ears picked up at the word “limp” and she tried to recall if the woman on the ferry walked with a limp. She was pretty sure she hadn’t, so was this significant? Bridget decided to probe a little deeper.
“So did she limp all the time or only when her arthritis flared up?”
“Oh no, it was there all the time. Sometimes worse than others but it never went away. Now you’ve mentioned it Bridget, that last time that I saw her, when she was pegging the washing out, something odd struck me at the time but I couldn’t think what it was until now. She wasn’t limping. I watched her walk up the garden path to the washing line carrying a full basket of washing and there was no trace of a limp. I also noticed that she seemed to bend with ease to pick clothes out of the basket. Normally bending was quite difficult for her but on that day she seemed to have no problem at all. I meant to ask her if she was on some new medication but of course I never got the chance. I can’t think there could be any other explanation, can you?”
Other than the fact it probably wasn’t Sheila Cresswell at all, Bridget thought to herself, no I can’t think of anything at all.
“No I’m sure you’re right Josie. Sometimes a change of medication can work wonders for a time until the body gets used to it and then the old symptoms return” Bridget replied, by no means certain that what she had just said was entirely correct. Josie appeared to agree with her analysis though, if her nods were anything to go by.
Bridget glanced at her watch, she’d spent almost an hour chatting with Josie and she couldn’t believe how fast the time had gone by. Gil would be worried sick.
“Well I’ve taken up enough of your time Josie so I’d better get going” Bridget said as she got up. “I’ve really enjoyed our chat and you’ve given me a very useful insight into the area.”
“I’m only glad I’ve been able to help Bridget honey. Now when you move here, you must promise me you’ll get in touch. I think you and I could have some fun nights out.”
“I’m sure we could” Bridget replied as she headed for the door.
*
Gil was leaning against the car looking anxiously in the direction that Bridget had headed for when he spotted her at last.
“Thank goodness for that, I was beginning to get worried.”
“I’m so sorry Gil, I just lost track of time. I knew you would be worried but the woman I’ve been talking to was such a mine of information about the Cresswells that I didn’t want to leave in case I missed something. You must have got very fed up waiting for me.”
“Oh it wasn’t too bad, I managed to pick up a newspaper but what I could really do with is finding a loo. I spotted a café just up from the newsagents so what say we go there and you can tell me all about it.”
Later, after Bridget had relayed her conversation with Josie and they had downed several ham sandwiches and a pot of tea between them, Gil congratulated his sister on accomplishing her mission.
Bridget beamed with pride that she’d got something she thought might interest Mark Addison. “Have you texted him to say where we are in case he wants to meet up?” she asked.
“Yes, I’ve just sent it. Oh here we go” Gil said as his phone sounded a text alert. “He’s replied already. “With you in ten minutes” he says. We’d better get another pot of tea then, and a few cakes while we’re at it.”
“Sorry I’m a bit late” Mark said as he hurried into the café twenty minutes later, “something come up just as I was just heading out the door. So Bridget, or should I call you Mata Hari, what have you got for me?”
For the second time, Bridget relayed her conversation with Josie. She waited expectantly as Mark digested what she had to say.
“Ok, so from what Josie said, did you get her surname by the way?”
“No sorry Mark, I didn’t think of it. Oh I could kick myself, how could I…”
“
No worries, we can check it from the electoral register if we need it. So as I understand it, the Cresswells, the real Cresswells I mean, were squeaky clean. No skeletons in the cupboard, well as far as your new best mate Josie is aware of anyway. But what she had to say about Sheila Cresswell limping is very interesting. Now are you sure Bridget that the woman you spoke to on the ferry didn’t walk with a limp?”
“Definitely not. I had a good view of her when she left the table to get some refreshments from the cafeteria and there was no sign of any limp at all. Do you think this means she definitely wasn’t the real Sheila Cresswell?”
“I’d love to say yes but I need to get a medical opinion on arthritic conditions. I know what your Josie said about her limp always being present but I’d stake money on there being no doctor anywhere in the land who would be prepared to testify that such a limp is always permanent.”
“But wouldn’t Sheila’s GP know if she always walked with a limp?” Gil asked.
“Good point Gil. I’ll make an appointment. Let’s hope he or she doesn’t try to hide behind the “patient confidentiality” argument. Well if that’s all, I’d better be getting back. Thanks again both of you, and especially you Bridget for your sterling effort this morning. Let’s hope what you’ve found out will lead to a breakthrough. I don’t need to remind you that the clock is ticking so I need to move fast.” With that, the Chief Inspector bid his two new amateur recruits a good afternoon and headed back to the station.
“So what do you fancy doing now Bridge? I know we said we’d like to take a look at the castle but this drizzle that’s just started looks to be getting heavier.”
“Let’s just get back home Gil. I’ve got a bit of a headache coming on, I think it’s from all that concentrating I had to do when I was talking to Josie. Is that ok with you?”
“Yes that suits me fine. I don’t really fancy walking around the castle in the wet.”
Bridget fished in her bag for her umbrella whilst Gil paid their bill. “Put this in your bag Bridge will you please, to save it from getting wet” he said, picking up a free magazine from near the till.
“Why what is it?” Bridget asked looking at the front of More than the White Cliffs.
“Just a local mag I think but according to the cover there’s an article on the resurgence of village cricket teams that I’d like to read.”
“Ok, but let’s hurry back to the car before this rain gets any heavier.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The following day saw the rain continue at the same relentless pace as it had been doing all night. Unusually, Gil abandoned his plans for a morning in the garage, preferring to put his feet up at home with the papers instead. Bridget had stolen the magazine he’d picked up in the café in Dover and was now annoyingly reading out all the interesting bits to him.
“You should read this article on village cricket teams, it’s amazing how some of the youngsters are starting to prefer it to football. It’s becoming quite trendy apparently. It says here that…”
“If you don’t mind, Bridge, I’d rather read it myself, when I get chance of course.”
Ignoring her brother’s remark, Bridget continued to flick through the pages. “Oh my goodness” she said after what was for Gil a blissful period of silence.
“What now, I told you I wanted to read that article myself.”
“Well for your information Mr Grumpy, I’m not reading that article any more.”
“So what are you reading then?” Gil asked, knowing full well if he didn’t, Bridget would tell him anyway.
“It’s about an Antiques Road Show that was held last month at a country house just outside Dover. Not the version on TV but something similar for local charities. People paid to have their items valued by local antiques experts and the three items that the experts considered the most interesting won prizes. There’s a photo of the three winners and guess who got second prize?”
“I’ve no idea” Gil said, not remotely interested.
“Mrs Sheila Cresswell of Hazel Avenue, Dover’” Bridget replied throwing the magazine onto Gil’s lap. “That’s the real Sheila Cresswell of course, it’s certainly not the woman from the ferry.”
Gil skimmed the article and studied the photograph. “You’re right Bridge, even I can see it’s not the same woman. Do you think we should mention it to Mark?”
“We could but I don’t see how it would help. I think he’s pretty convinced that the woman we spoke to was a fake. It can’t do any harm to tell him though, I’ll give him a bell later.”
After she’d made the pastry for a chicken and mushroom pie, Bridget rang Mark Addison’s private mobile number. It went straight to voice mail so she left a message asking him to call when he could and carried on with her chores.
Over a light lunch of home-made bread, cheese and an apple, Bridget picked up the magazine with the photo of Sheila Cresswell and studied it again. This time she focused on what Sheila was holding. If she was right, it was one of those rare teddy bears that Josie had mentioned. Fishing in one of the kitchen table’s drawers, Bridget pulled out a magnifying glass and examined the tag in the bear’s ear. She still couldn’t read it. Damn.
“Can you have a look at this Gil, your eyes are better than mine.”
Since he had a mouthful of cracker, Gil took the magazine and magnifying glass without saying a word. After a few seconds he put both objects down.
“It looks like a five digit serial number but I can only make out the first number, which looks like a three and the last which could be a one, or maybe a seven. I don’t know why you’re so interested in it though, I mean what does it prove?”
“I’ve no idea. I suppose I’m looking for any red flags in the Cresswells’ past. We know from Josie that they bought and sold rare toys. What if they bought the bear cheaply at a car-boot, the owner saw the photo and realised he, or she, had been duped?”
“Ok, but so what? If you’re stupid enough to sell a rare item without knowing its value, then tough. That’s how these things work, I don’t think there’s any comeback. Even if that was the case, are you suggesting that whoever sold the bear somehow pushed Sheila Cresswell overboard as revenge?”
“That would make no sense at all, surely they would be more interested in getting the bear back than murdering the woman who bought it. Even then, it’s too far-fetched, it sounds like something out of a book. Oh I don’t know Gil” Bridget said with a sigh, “but I can’t help thinking the bear could be significant somehow. I do wish Mark would hurry up and call me back, I’m sure he’d know if we were on to something or not.”
Bridget didn’t have long to wait. The phone rang just as she was in the middle of making a white sauce for the pie. Gil was nowhere to be seen. Typical, she moaned to herself as she turned off the heat under the saucepan. If that goes lumpy, I’ll know who to blame, not entirely sure if she meant Mark or Gil.
“Hello Mark, you got my message then?” Bridget replied, trying not to sound cross.
“Yes and I managed to track down a copy of the magazine but I’m not entirely sure what you’re getting at Bridget.”
Bridget explained the theory that she had outlined to Gil over lunch.
Still not convinced that the bear was significant, Mark nevertheless agreed he would give the photo to one of their “techie boys” and ask them to identify the serial number. Bridget was slightly disappointed that Mark hadn’t leapt on her idea as the answer to all his prayers but as there was nothing more she could do, she turned her attention back to the now, distinctly lumpy sauce.
Later, with the sauce finally rescued and the pie filling made, Bridget wandered into the study and fired up the computer. She googled “old German teddy bears” and was astonished to see what some of them sold for. Well if that’s not a motive for a crime, I don’t know what is, she thought as she read about Steiff bears that sold for five or even six-figure sums. But they had buttons in their ears, not tags with serial numbers, so Bridget knew that the bear Sheila Cr
esswell had been holding was not one of those. She carried on searching and eventually found a bear with a five digit serial number tag in its ear. Only £1,000, that can’t be right? Whilst Sheila’s bear was undoubtedly old and German, that value was only a fraction of the Steiffs. Hardly worth killing for. Bridget felt as deflated as a burst balloon. Feeling rather foolish that she had allowed herself to be carried away with a theory that hadn’t passed the first test, she tried to banish the whole thing form her mind. Later, she thought about ringing Mark to tell him not to bother wasting valuable resources on identifying the serial number but decided she couldn’t face the embarrassment. Stick to what you know best Bridget Honeyman, she said to herself and set about making some scones for tea.
Right on cue, Gil emerged from the shed later just as the scones were at the perfect temperature for eating. “Put the kettle on Bridge will you, I’m going to clean up while you make the tea.” He didn’t see Bridget drop a curtsey as he left the room.
Just as they had finished eating, the phone rang. Bridget jumped up to answer it. Five minutes later she returned to the kitchen with a look on her face that was a cross between disappointment and dejection. She sat down heavily at the table and poured herself another cup of tea.
“That was Mark. They’ve managed to decipher the serial number on the bear’s ear tag but unless anyone comes forward and claims it, it doesn’t really help.” Bridget told Gil about her research and how much the bears could fetch.
Gil let out a low whistle. “I wonder how the Cresswells came by it then. From what we know of them, I can’t see them as thieves, can you?”
“No, not at all. Mark said that the bear was probably part of a haul of items stolen from several big properties in the up-market villages around Dover. His theory is that whoever took it, didn’t appreciate its value and it somehow ended up at a car-boot or jumble sale where the eagle-eyed Sheila Cresswell snapped it up.”
