by Purser, Ann
“Evening, all,” he said, as he walked to the bar. A chorus of greeting came to him from the young people. In no time at all, he was leaning on the bar and chatting to an older man, who told him that they were from the Manor House College.
These youngsters are my students,” he said, and held out his hand. “Rickwood Smith, at your service, Mister, er . . . ?”
“Halfhide,” said Gus. “And are they on the creative writing course, by any chance?”
“Yes, we are,” said an attractive blonde girl with a friendly smile. “Most of this lot are in residence already, but I live locally. In Spinney Close. Samantha Earnshaw is my name. I’m joining in the getting-to-know-you stuff, so we shall all be best mates by the time the course starts in earnest.”
“A colleague of mine will be on the course,” said Gus. “It will be interesting to see how she is received. She’s well into her seventies!”
“More the merrier,” said Rickwood Smith expansively. “We shall welcome a different perspective on life.”
“Another drink all round?” said Gus, privately hoping they were on halves of shandy. “And here’s to success in the course!”
• • •
WHEN GUS ARRIVED as arranged, Mrs. Blatch seemed unwilling to talk. As before, she offered him a nightcap, but when he hesitated, she did not insist. “Early bed for me,” she said. “I’m quite tired now. Not much sleep last night, as you know!” she said. “I promise not to disturb you tonight. I might leave my light on all night. That should fix the apparition.”
“So you do now think it was a figment of your poor old sleepy mind,” Gus said consolingly, trusting this would not annoy. He was not expecting a tantrum, but she banged the table and said if that was what he thought, she would leave him and his dog to find their own way upstairs. She then turned off all the lights except the one over the stairs, and disappeared into her room.
“Um, yes, well, Whippy, we’d better go up, too,” he said. “Or maybe we could go home, and call it a day?”
“No, you couldn’t,” said Eleanor, reappearing at the top of the stairs. “I’ve paid you to stay here. So here you’ll stay, thanks very much.” Then she disappeared again.
Gus was not pleased, and felt he was being sent upstairs to bed like a naughty boy. He put the sitting room light on, and took out a book from his bag. He would read until he felt sleepy, and then go up. He searched in his toilet bag and found two small earplugs, which he inserted firmly. The drama queen could yell herself stupid, but he would sleep on, aided by two pints of Old Hooky and a quiet night.
Nothing more untoward happened, and he fell asleep quickly, with Whippy keeping his feet warm. He was amazed when he awoke and saw daylight through the curtains. His travelling clock told him it was six thirty, and he got out of bed and pulled on his clothes. His head was thumping, but a shower and shave would fix that when he returned home. Whippy, still ill at ease, stood by the door, clearly wanting to be released.
“A better night, eh, dog?” Gus could see the principal bedroom door was closed, and tiptoed downstairs, unwilling to wake up his client. There had been no dramas in the night, and he would slip away without her noticing he’d gone. He could leave a note on the kitchen table, saying he would be back for a further consultation during the day. But not another night!
Remembering he had left his book in the sitting room, he went back, drew the curtains and spotted it on the sofa. He went across to collect it, glancing out the windows as he turned. He could see the fire escape, leading down from the dark chamber, and he hesitated. There was something curled up in the steel cage at the base. He looked more closely, opening the French window into the garden. As he got closer, his heart beat faster, and then he was sure. It was Eleanor, and she was no longer alive.
Twenty-one
GUS HAD HAD enough time to telephone Deirdre, and ask her to tell the others the grim news, before Inspector Frobisher arrived, accompanied by his assistant, an attractive policewoman in sensible shoes.
“So what time was it when you found her, Mr. Halfhide?” asked Frobisher. The inspector knew Gus from previous cases, and was well aware that his good friend Deirdre Bloxham had nobbled Augustus Halfhide soon after he arrived in Barrington.
“I suppose it was around six thirty this morning. I had woken early, and hoped to be away before Mrs. Blatch was up and about. But before we go any further, Inspector, I should tell you that Mrs. Blatch has a sister Mary, living in Spinney Close in this village. She is disabled, but has her nephew, Rickwood Smith, staying with her at the moment. I’m not sure this will be in your records, as they don’t have anything to do with each other. A family feud, apparently. I expect they should be told as soon as possible, if only as a courtesy?”
Frobisher nodded, and spoke to his assistant, who disappeared, only to reappear five minutes later. She muttered something to the inspector and settled down again.
“So, now, you had been spending the night here? Are you a frequent night visitor to this woman living alone?”
Gus explained that he had agreed to spend a couple of nights at Blackwoods to help tide her over a panic attack and nightmarish dreams. “She is a client of Enquire Within, as you know, Inspector,” he said. “I had no amorous intentions concerning Mrs. Blatch, I can assure you. She asked Enquire Within to supply this service, and I was the one who, well, who . . .”
“Drew the short straw, Mr. Halfhide?” supplied the inspector. “Were you intending to be back tonight, continuing your service of reassurance?”
Gus shook his head. “No, I’d had enough, Inspector. It is a creepy old house, with floorboards creaking at night, and cold draughts of air when there are no windows open. She’s welcome to it!”
“Please continue,” said the Inspector. “My team will be arriving very shortly to do the necessary investigations on and around the deceased.”
“You’ll have seen to this already, I’m sure. But there’s a small room in this house,” began Gus, “which is sometimes locked, though your chaps will be able to unlock it. It is the one that leads out to the fire escape. It’s just that, well, on one occasion, when I first looked around the house when Mrs. Blatch was in hospital, the small room was open, and I walked in, only to find that it been cleaned, with no sign of cigars.”
“Right, well, thank you, Mr. Halfhide. I can hear the team arriving, so that will be all for now. I shall, of course, want to talk to you further. Oh, and by the way, I suppose you couldn’t remember the brand of cigar?”
Gus shook his head. “Not sure, Inspector. Looked expensive.”
“Right, well, I shall want to hear more about those nightmarish dreams of Mrs. Blatch’s, so perhaps you will not mind accompanying my assistant down to the police station where we can continue our talk.”
“Me? Down to the station? You’re surely not suggesting I am under suspicion! Really, Inspector, that is truly ridiculous!”
“Nevertheless, Mr. Halfhide, it will be necessary.”
• • •
A SIZABLE CROWD had gathered outside Blackwoods Farm, brought by the sound of sirens, police cars and an ambulance with flashing lights arriving in Manor Road. As Gus was accompanied by the policewoman to a waiting car, he felt like Danton on the way to the scaffold.
“At least you’re not suggesting we go by tumbril,” he said. The policewoman did not answer, but stood by as he opened the passenger-side door, stepped in and anchored himself with the seat belt.
“All set, Mr. Halfhide?” she said, and they drove off. The crowd’s heads turned as they went, and Gus was mortified to see the shocked face of Miriam Blake among them.
As they drove towards Thornwell, the policewoman made one or two fruitless attempts at conversation, trying, without committing herself, to explain the inspector’s decision.
“No offence,” said Gus, “but I do not intend to say anything at all until I make a statement
. I need to phone my lawyer, but first can you please make sure my dog is taken to Miss Blake at number three Hangman’s Row? She will come into the garden via the cat flap. This is very important, as she has no road sense and could easily be run over trying to find her way home. That is, the whippet, not Miss Blake.”
The policewoman detected a break in Gus’s voice, and drew the car to a halt. In two minutes she had delivered the message, and was able to reassure him that Whippy was safe, and had been collected by Miss Blake, who was already on the scene.
• • •
NOW REASSURED ABOUT Whippy, Gus relapsed into silence, trying hard to think his way round this ridiculous situation. Barry Frobisher was one of Deirdre’s former amoureux, for God’s sake! He must know that she would never befriend a potential murderer?
When he had cooled down, he began to see the whole thing more clearly, through the eyes of a policeman. A woman had been found dead, possibly murdered, and a man, himself, had been found in her house, having spent the night there, claiming he knew nothing about it.
But he had summoned the police. Surely, if he had done the dreadful deed, he would have done a runner as fast as he could? But then again, if he had constructed a good enough alibi for himself, it could be a double bluff. So what was his alibi? That he had spent the night in the house, in a bedroom near the woman’s own, had arisen early and planned to exit the house before she woke. A sudden thought had struck him. Mrs. Blatch had not shown up at all that morning, and he had gone to take a look in the sitting room, and had found her outside in the fire escape. So what?
“Guilty as hell!” he said loudly, and the policewoman looked at him in alarm.
“Sorry, what did you say, Mr. Halfhide? Don’t upset yourself. We are nearly there, and I’m sure that after the inspector has had another chat with you, you will be free to leave. And yes, of course you can phone your lawyer.”
As she steered him gently, one hand under his elbow, into the police station, she said quietly that if he’d been guilty as hell, it was very unlikely she would have been allowed to bring him into town unescorted and sitting in the front seat next to a woman driver.
• • •
AS THE INSPECTOR finally came out of Blackwoods Farm, the crowd had dispersed but a large cream Bentley now stood outside the cordon. Inside, much to his dismay, he saw Deirdre Bloxham staring at him with a face like doom.
She opened her door and stepped out into the road to meet him.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Barry?” she said, loudly enough to reach a couple of plods on duty by the entrance to the farm.
“Please, Deirdre,” he muttered into her ear. “I can explain everything. I need to take a statement from you, and also Miss Beasley and Mr. Goodman. Perhaps the best thing is if I follow you to Springfields, and then we can worry them as little as possible. They must be very alarmed already.”
“Not helped by your idiocy in arresting Gus and taking him off in chains!”
“Don’t be ridiculous, my dear. He agreed to my request. That is all, and as soon as I have had time to talk to him again, I’m sure there will be no need to keep him.”
Deirdre, with a face of stone, turned back to her car and waited for him to follow her down into the village and round to Springfields gate. She alighted quickly, and came to his window, rapping on it sharply. He opened it, and she told him to wait until she had prepared them.
“They are old people, Barry Frobisher!” she said. “Living in a residential home because they are frail.”
“Though their spirits are strong,” Frobisher said, “or so I believe.”
“Wait here,” said Deirdre, “until I tell you to come in.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said the inspector, and touched his forelock.
“Oh, for God’s sake!” said Deirdre, and marched off towards Springfields reception.
Twenty-two
“DID YOU SAY the inspector was outside, Deirdre?” Ivy’s face was an angry red, and Roy reached out to her and took her hand. “And what about her sister in Spinney Close? And her nephew, Rickwood? Have they been told?”
“Let’s listen to the rest of what Deirdre has to say,” he suggested quietly. “Losing your cool, as the young say, will not help Gus.”
Deirdre had been trying to explain what had happened to Gus, but all she knew was what he had told her briefly on the telephone after he had found Eleanor Blatch. The bare facts were bad enough, but they were all he had had time to give her before Frobisher arrived and ended the call.
Then Katya had come in with their breakfast and said the sirens and police they had heard were all on their way to Blackwoods Farm, and rumours were rife. The gossips in the shop said they’d seen Mr. Halfhide being taken away. They now remembered they had always known there was something funny about him, the way he’d arrived in the village with nothing but what he stood up in, and a small grey dog.
“Everyone was talking about it,” said Ivy, “and now you have come to tell us Gus has been taken off to Thornwell police station for questioning. What do you expect, Roy? Of course I’m angry. Anyway, what else have you to tell us, Deirdre?”
“Not a lot, unfortunately. I had a word with the inspector, and he said Gus would soon be released. Then, being a policeman through and through, he was all for storming in here to interview you two, and I stopped him. I said he could come in when we were ready. And Mrs. Spurling is already guarding the reception door, in case he should try a forced entry.”
“Don’t be so melodramatic, Deirdre,” said Ivy, now calmer. “You said Gus phoned you before he left the farm. He must have had more to tell?”
“Well, it seems that he went to look for his book, and saw out the window that there was someone in the cage at the bottom of the fire escape, and it was Eleanor. It was early morning, and he had been going to leave before she got up. He was fed up with the whole thing, I think, before he saw her.”
“And is she all right? Why the police?”
“I am afraid she was not all right. In fact, she is dead, Ivy. Gus said she was lying crookedly in the cage, and he reckoned her death must have been instant. Sensibly, he didn’t touch her. He had called the police. That’s all I know, I’m afraid.”
“Well, that explains the police and the ambulance. Thank you, Deirdre, that was all very clear,” said Roy.
“So you’d better let the inspector come in, Deirdre,” Ivy said. “Perhaps he’ll tell us more, and then we can decide what to do about Gus. I’ll swear our Gus couldn’t kill a wasp, let alone push a woman to her death in the middle of the night.”
“He hadn’t heard anything in the night, he said, though he admitted he’d had a couple of pints in the pub before going to Blackwoods.” Deirdre frowned at Ivy.
“Of course, dear. Best get your inspector, and then we can start work.”
Mrs. Spurling had warmed up the small conference room, and when Ivy, Roy and Deirdre went in, they found Inspector Frobisher already waiting for them. He stood up immediately and wished them a good morning.
“Let’s hope it is a good morning,” said Ivy, allowing him to hold a chair for her. Roy sat next to her, and Deirdre directly opposite the inspector.
“Before you start, Barry Frobisher,” said Deirdre, “do we have your assurance that Gus Halfhide will be released and back here today?”
“You know very well, Mrs. Bloxham,” he replied stiffly, “that we have to question very closely the man who found the deceased. Especially since he had spent the night in her house.”
“That’s very reasonable, Deirdre dear,” said Roy. “Now, Inspector, we are really very much in the dark about what happened, so perhaps you would be kind enough to fill us in. You will appreciate that we are very concerned about a valued colleague, as well as being fellow workers with you on a case already involving poor Miss Blatch.”
Thank God for Roy Goodman, t
hought the inspector. “Of course,” he began, “we all know that Mrs. Blatch had engaged the services of Enquire Within to find out who, if anybody, was disturbing her sleep with ghostly manifestations and threats to her person. We all also know that this lady has a troubled history, when she shut herself off from everything and allowed her house to go to rack and ruin.”
“Not quite a ruin,” interrupted Deirdre. “I reckon me and my team cleaned that place up pretty well before she came out of hospital. Needs more attention, but it’s certainly not a ruin, and she was doing her bit to help.”
“Don’t interrupt the inspector,” said Ivy. “Else we shall be here all day. Carry on, please.”
“Thanks, Miss Beasley. Well, we were first called in when Mrs. Bloxham found Mrs. Blatch unconscious on the floor of her bedroom, apparently having fallen out of bed and cut open her head on something sharp. It could have been the old iron bedstead, or something else subsequently removed. She was taken to hospital, where she recovered. Since then she has been a new woman. Deirdre has befriended her, and we have made certain enquiries about a former lodger of hers.”
“So what have you found out?”
“Deirdre! Do be quiet, girl!” Ivy glared at her, and Deirdre subsided with a mutinous expression.
“Nothing, so far. We are still following several leads, but nothing yet. Apart from his name, which at that time was Sturridge.”
Deirdre opened her mouth to tell him that Roy and Ivy had failed to find any trace of him in the library, but a furious look from Ivy quelled her.
“We—I should perhaps say I—had more or less decided that Mrs. Blatch had dreamt up the threats, but was now well on the road to recovery from delusions, and her future looked bright,” said Frobisher. “You can imagine, therefore, how surprised I was to receive Mr. Halfhide’s call this morning. I have already explained why we want to talk to him urgently, since he may have many details to remember from the previous twelve hours which will help us in our enquiries.”
