Rattling the Bones

by Ann Granger

  ‘And now will you promise me to stop meddling in this?’ he demanded passionately.

  ‘I can’t, Ganesh. If they were after me before, they are still after me now. They missed me once. They may try again. They will try to get Edna again. Why should they want to kill her? And why is Culpeper so interested? Is he in danger? I’d hate to think that vulnerable old man has a dangerous enemy. I don’t mind telling you I’m really pleased he’s shut up in that house and can’t get out. No one can get in either - the place is like Fort Knox.’

  Ganesh said slowly, ‘If this is down to people close to the principals in the case, being shut away is no guarantee of safety if anyone means him harm. On the other hand, as so few people have access to him, the list of suspects would be pretty short and the police would be checking them all out before you could say “inside job”.’

  ‘Let’s hope you’re right,’ I said, not convinced.

  ‘Culpeper may even be a part of the conspiracy, for all you know’, Ganesh went on.

  I sighed. ‘That’s the worst thing. They may all be in this together. Culpeper may not have his legs but he has his brain and likes to control things. Well, I don’t scare off easy. They may think it’s family business. I think it’s mine.’

  ‘I know you do,’ he said. ‘So are you going to tell Morgan?’

  ‘No,’ I said and seeing his mouth opening in protest, I went on quickly, ‘You are.’

  ‘Me?’ he was horrified. ‘Leave me out of it.’

  ‘Please, Gan! I haven’t got time to go and see her. I’ve something else I’ve got to do first, just to make sure I’m not doing like my grandma and making it all up.’

  ‘You might be creating all this out of a handful of very thin clues. Goodness only knows how your imagination works but it seems to go crazy at the drop of a hat,’ said Ganesh dolefully. He frowned. ‘What’s your grandmother got to do with it?’

  ‘If I go to Morgan she’ll tell me to stay home and do nothing and let her take over. I won’t be able to refuse her because it will be an official request. So the only way I can do it is by you going to her and gaining me a little more time. Please, Ganesh.’

  ‘I can’t just take time off in the middle of the morning and leave the shop,’ he argued.

  ‘Why not? Business is slow. Hari owes you some time off, anyway.’

  ‘Hari doesn’t believe in anyone having time off. But you are right; he does owe it to me.’

  There was a silence. A pair of large dogs appeared and frolicked round us. Ganesh looked alarmed but luckily the owner called them back and they lolloped off. Ganesh relaxed.

  ‘What’s this very important thing you’ve got to do?’ he asked. ‘If I go to see Morgan, where will you be going?’

  ‘To Teddington. To Fulwell, actually, to Lottie’s place.’

  ‘You’re going to confront her? Look, Fran, this really isn’t a good idea. If she’s kept information from you deliberately she’s going to be anything but pleased to find out you know it.’

  I shook my head. ‘No, I’m going to take a very discreet look around. Don’t worry, Ganesh, I will be very, very careful.’

  ‘That’ll be a first,’ said Ganesh. ‘I can’t stop you. But I will go and see Morgan and tell her where you’ve gone. That’s not because I want to oblige you by winning you more time to get into serious trouble . . . but because you’ll go to Teddington anyway and I’d rather Morgan knew it.’

  ‘Give me the time,’ I begged. ‘Don’t tell her before I’ve had a chance to look the place over. And don’t worry, I will keep out of everyone’s way.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  I got up early. To be honest I’d hardly slept. I lay awake thinking out my strategy and hopped out of bed raring to go. It was too soon to knock on Erwin’s door and wake him to ask if he’d take Bonnie. I knew he’d been playing at a gig for most of the previous night and hadn’t come home until about three in the morning. I’d heard the slam of the van door and the farewells of his band buddies. So there was nothing to it but take her over to the newsagent’s and ask if I could leave her in the storeroom at the back.

  We set off round there at a brisk trot but when we got to the supermarket which was the cause of all Hari’s woes Bonnie and I came to an abrupt halt. Blue and white tape across the entrance announced this was a crime scene. A notice on the door apologised to customers for temporary closure. Inside I could see a couple of figures at the far end of the place by Dairy Products but they weren’t stacking shelves. One was writing in a notebook and the other, in a managerial white shirt and tie, was waving his arms around.

  I barrelled into Hari’s shop agog with curiosity.

  Hari, busy serving a small queue of customers, beamed at me above their heads.

  ‘Ah, Francesca, my dear! Ganesh is in the stockroom! Yes, yes, twenty Silk Cut . . .’

  Bonnie and I shot through to the stockroom where I demanded, ‘What’s happened at the supermarket?’

  Ganesh looked round at me. His face was haggard as if he hadn’t slept either. He certainly wasn’t sharing Hari’s good humour. ‘Oh, that,’ he said. ‘They had a break-in. The robbers got in round the back somehow and moved out all the wines and spirits. They had a go at breaking through the grille protecting the cigarettes but the alarms were going by then and they had to scarper. Hari and I heard the din about three in the morning and we didn’t get any sleep after that. Cops have been there since early on. They must be nearly finished now.’

  ‘So, how long do they reckon they’ll be closed?’

  ‘Oh, I shouldn’t think more than one day. Then all the customers will go back there and we’ll be doing no business again. But for today Hari is dead chuffed to see all the punters come back even if only temporarily. He’s hoping it won’t be temporary. He argues that when they realise they have been missing the personal service they get here, they won’t go back to the supermarket. Hari’s idea of personal service being what it is, I wouldn’t bet on that. Anyway, he’s shaking his head and lamenting the high incidence of crime, but he’s beaming from ear to ear at the same time.’

  ‘It’s an ill wind,’ I observed. ‘Bad luck for the supermarket, though, and not a nice thing to know people are hanging about the area breaking into places.’

  ‘We don’t stock booze,’ said Ganesh laconically. ‘And there aren’t enough cigarettes in there -’ he indicated the shop - ‘to make it worth their while bothering us. We get light-fingered kids but that’s about it. The supermarket is part of a chain. The chap who runs it is only a manager. It’s not like it’s his business and they’ve got insurance against that sort of thing. It will affect his receipts, of course. Main thing is, no one is hurt, isn’t it?’

  ‘I must say, you’re pretty laid back about it.’

  ‘It’s got nothing to do with me. I’m not Hari. Sorry if I can’t get delirious over a minor break-in on another premises.’

  Oh, dear, sour mood. Hari chirpy: Ganesh glum. It seemed to be always the way. They were like those toy figures predicting the weather. One comes out of the little wooden house when it rains and as soon as it clears up, the other comes out but the first one shoots back inside.

  ‘OK if I leave Bonnie while I go out to Teddington?’ I asked.

  ‘You’re going through with it, then?’ Ganesh folded his arms and leaned back against a shelf stacked with bottled water.

  ‘Yes, and you’re going to see Morgan and tell her what I found out, aren’t you? You said you would, only don’t rush off and do it before I’ve had a chance to get out to Teddington and do what I want to do.’

  Ganesh eyed me rather as though I was some sort of display offering discounted chocolate bars and he wasn’t quite sure where in the shop I’d be positioned to best advantage.

  ‘I’ll take an early lunch break. Hari will kick up a fuss because we’re busy for once, but I’ll go. What will you do if you run into this dodgy female or that bloke, Ferrier?’

  ‘If I do find myself face to face with Lotti
e, then I’ll catch her off guard. I’ll put it to her point blank and see what sort of explanation she comes up with. She’s held out on me. I am supposed to be working with her on this. As for Ferrier, he won’t be around. He works in the city. He’ll be sweating away on his next bonus.’

  ‘Make sure you’re not caught off guard,’ he warned.

  Hari called to him at that point and I was spared further delay.

  I settled Bonnie in the storeroom and promised her that when all this was over, I wouldn’t keep dumping her nearly every day while I went off and did interesting things without her. She stared at me with reproachful brown eyes, sighed and settled down on her cardboard bed, her shiny black nose resting on her forepaws. She knows how to make me feel guilty.

  I retreated through the shop at indecent speed, waving an airy hand at Hari who was busy selling ciggies to a labourer in a yellow jacket. The jacket was smeared with black streaks and reeked of something chemical. I hoped when the guy lit up one of his fags he didn’t combust. Hari was looking at the customer as if he feared he might incinerate the shop.

  I spent the train journey out to Teddington thinking what I’d be doing if I were Lottie. I wouldn’t stay in the house the whole day, of that I was fairly sure. I doubted she was doing any detecting at the moment. She was never the one who went out and hoofed it round the streets digging out the dirt. She sat back in the office and kept the books straight. She wouldn’t know where to start doing the practical stuff and she’d have to look for another business partner for that. She still had Les to call on, of course, but I had the feeling she’d be calling on Les somewhat less. But she was on her own, there wouldn’t be any book-keeping or telephoning to speak of - and she must miss having someone there to talk to. Time would be heavy on her hands and I was sure she’d go out, either up to town to trawl the big stores or maybe to meet a pal for lunch somewhere. I had been careful when getting off the train at the Fulwell stop to watch out for her. My luck had held and she wasn’t hanging about on the platform. I had, just in case, taken the precaution of donning Susie’s black wig again. It wouldn’t have fooled Lottie close up, any more than it had fooled Duane for more than a few minutes, but the chances were she wouldn’t look that closely - if she did happen to be there.

  Trusting to the wig, I walked briskly down the street past the house without slowing or showing any interest in it. There was some sort of brightly coloured advertising circular sticking out of the letter box. I couldn’t see anyone going from house to house distributing the leaflets so I reckoned it had been there a while and Lottie wasn’t there to remove it. The one thing which might interfere with my carefully calculated scenario was if she was out back in the kitchen busy painting the walls duck-egg blue in preparation for the ceremonial hanging of Duane’s portrait. But I was inclined to bet she would keep that for the evenings.

  Nevertheless, I had to be sure. I would watch the house for a little while and see if there was any sign of life at a window or any callers.

  It’s not a simple thing to keep watch even on a supposedly empty house in a residential street, especially one in a fairly prosperous area. Neighbourhood Watch fanatics are peering from behind their blinds and au pair girls are ringing their employers or the police to insist in fractured English that someone is planning to kidnap them and force them into the sex trade.

  I couldn’t therefore position myself right opposite Lottie’s place but there was a small café down the road on a corner. I went in and found I was the only customer as they had just opened up. They looked a bit surprised. I asked if they did breakfasts. They didn’t do fry-ups, they told me. They could manage croissants and coffee if I didn’t mind just waiting for a bit until the croissants arrived. I was delighted to wait a bit and settled myself at a window where I could see down the street and just about keep Lottie’s front door in view if no one parked in front of it.

  I could see that the woman behind the café counter was a little bit suspicious of me so I went out of my way to chat to her cheerfully and tell her I was out looking for a flat in the area and the best way to do that was to explore it first, wasn’t it?

  She agreed. ‘It’s a nice area to live in, dear, but the rents are high.’ She set down my coffee which smelled fresh and delicious. ‘You could advertise in the local press,’ she said. ‘Or there is a newsagent in the next street might put up a card for you.’

  ‘I might get some funny replies,’ I said direly, as one who had learned from bitter experience.

  ‘That’s true,’ she admitted. She retired to dust off her rock buns.

  I sipped my coffee and then let out a yelp.

  ‘All right?’ asked the café woman anxiously. ‘It is a bit hot.’

  I assured her I was fine. It wasn’t hot coffee that had caused my involuntary exclamation. It was the sight of Lottie, outside in the street. Well, so much for all my elaborate deductions about her catching the train into town. Just as well I hadn’t walked straight on to the property. She had been in the house. I hadn’t been prepared for her sudden appearance. I was barely settled in and the croissants hadn’t turned up yet. I leaned back away from the window and prayed she wasn’t coming into the café too. But no, she was all kitted out in a tracksuit with her hair tied up in that bandanna affair. She broke into a steady jog as she went past the café, then carried on down the street in the general direction of the golf course. I would be surprised if they allowed her to pursue her exercise routine on their hallowed turf but wherever she had gone, I guessed she’d be gone for a while.

  I got up and went to pay for my coffee. ‘Nice coffee. I’ll come back for the croissants later,’ I said.

  ‘Good luck!’ called the woman as I left.

  I remembered I was house-hunting and thanked her.

  I could not be sure the woman at the café might not come to the window and watch which way I went, so I took myself off briskly in the opposite direction to Lottie’s place, made a tour of the block and came back to approach the house from the other direction.

  I tried to look as normal as possible, as if I had every right to enter the premises. I ignored the front door and walked down the side of the house towards the detached garage at the end of the drive. I saw as I approached it that it was padlocked.

  Surely I wasn’t to be foiled by something as basic as a padlock? I prowled round the garage’s exterior walls. There was a small dusty window in one side overlooking the neglected garden. Beneath it in an untidy pile was a job lot of gardener’s hardware: a rusty lawn roller, stacks of empty plant pots, plastic sacks which had contained compost and now seemed to contain rubbish and propped against it all an ancient wooden sawhorse. You know the sort of thing: it’s constructed from a pair of X-shaped ends with a bar between them. I dragged it out, trying not to pepper my hands with splinters, and gave it an experimental shake. It seemed solid enough to support my weight. I’m not that big. I hauled aside a couple of the rubbish sacks to make more room beneath the window. It was only a matter of time before someone looked out of a neighbour’s window and spotted me so I had to act fast. If challenged I’d try and get away with telling anyone interested that I was being paid to clear out the garden. I scrambled cautiously up onto the sawhorse. It groaned in protest and one of the X joints gave an ominous little crack.

  The ground beneath it was soft and the horse shifted without warning so that I wobbled dangerously and grabbed at the windowsill. I didn’t want to spend any more time up here than I had to. My precarious perch might give way at any minute. I pressed my face against the cobweb-festooned glass panes. At first I couldn’t make out anything in the gloom inside the garage. And then my eyes adjusted to the poor light, I caught a gleam of polished metal and there it was: a lovingly maintained powerful motorcycle.

  It was what I had hoped to see, the last little thing which would tell me I was absolutely on the right track now.

  ‘Well, well, Fran,’ said a voice behind me. ‘Scouting round prior to doing a bit of burglary? Allow me t
o help you down.’

  It was Adam Ferrier.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I felt a fool and I felt angry. What was worse, I was momentarily stumped. I had very little time to concoct a plausible explanation. But it wouldn’t wash, whatever I said. He knew exactly what I had been looking for - and exactly what I’d seen.

  As I jumped down the sawhorse toppled away beneath me and I lurched forward to land inelegantly in his arms. He took hold of my elbow in a very professional policeman’s hold, pushing the shoulder joint upward so that it was almost impossible to twist away. I wondered where he’d learned it or maybe experienced it.

  ‘We’ll go into the kitchen,’ he said, ‘and wait there for Lottie to come back.’

  He pushed me towards the back door and, still keeping a tight grip on my elbow, fished a bunch of house keys from his pocket.