The Missing Earring

by David Beard

  ‘She never passed the chore over to you?’ Tiley probed.

  ‘I can’t fuck and be sick at the same time. Look, I’m being straight with you. I didn’t know he was in Devon, but if he was, it wouldn’t surprise me if he did something violent. I can’t be more precise than that.’

  Dexter Smalacombe decided that they had gone as far as they could with the interview, so he wrapped it up and he and Tiley were soon heading back down the M4. They stopped at Membury Services and took a bite to eat.

  ‘Is she telling the truth, Dexter?’ Clive Tiley asked with a genuine note of bewilderment.

  ‘I wish I knew Clive. I wish I knew,’ answered Smalacombe with a note of resignation. ‘Of one thing you can be sure, that shit Budge isn’t.’

  CHAPTER 16

  Wednesday morning July 12th

  Eli Crouche had spent his most comfortable night in ages in the police cells. He had had a clean blanket and decent food served on a tray on clean plates. He could lay flat on the bench which was something he had long since abandoned in his own home where he usually slept in one of the chairs, sharing it with the debris of his chaotic life. Washing bed linen and repairing bed frames was not something to which he was prepared to devote much time. He even had a clean sink in which to wash and a toilet that worked. As a result he was in a good frame of mind when he sat down in number two interview room facing the chief inspector and his sergeant. Smalacombe was taken aback by his appearance. His long hair was steeped back tightly to his scalp as it was still wet from his morning administrations. Smalacombe wondered how long ago it was since he last washed his hair. Even his stubble, now close to being described as a beard, was combed, which emphasised his narrow elongated features. Unfortunately, Eli’s relaxed demeanour was quickly to dissipate as the chief inspector’s first comments sent a chill right through him.

  ‘We thought you would be interested to know that we’ve arrested Mr. Kelvin Budge,’ Smalacombe said in a matter of fact manner and he noted that Eli had blanched at the mention of his name. ‘You know him, don’t you?’ Eli never answered but stared hard at his interrogator in the hope that he would disguise his concern. It was wishful thinking.

  Clive Tiley took up the questioning. ‘We will be requesting to the court that you are remanded in custody, Mr. Crouche,’ he said with formality.

  ‘We’ve got Budge in Exeter jail already,’ Smalacombe lied, ‘he’s not going anywhere. Just think; you’ll probably be sharing a cell with him. Nice to know somebody in places like that isn’t it?’

  This visibly shook Eli and Smalacombe had no intention of playing it down. ‘Is it cold in here, Sergeant?’ he asked as Eli shivered before him.

  ‘Can I have a fag?’ he asked.

  ‘No. I haven’t got any. I’ve given them up. In any case there’s no smoking in here, as you well know.’ Smalacombe paused and then with the most affected voice brimming with false bonhomie he enquired, ‘Peppermint?’ Eli shook his head and snorted.

  Smalacombe pressed on. ‘Offences concerning firearms must mean remand, Mr. Crouche, you know that and especially if the gun is still missing. Mind you, we could put in a good word for bail if you co-operate: fully, of course.’ Eli stalled, not sure what was expected of him. ‘I can’t promise anything, you understand?’ Smalacombe leant back making it clear that the next move had to come from Eli.

  Eli weighed up his options, none of which were particularly appealing. He settled on a strategy of stalling for no better reason than he considered it to be the least co-operative ploy and he spoke for the first time. ‘I knows bugger all ‘bout Budge.’ It was unconvincing.

  Smalacombe stood to go. ‘All right, have it your way. When are we in court Mr. Tiley?’ Tiley ostentatiously checked his notebook, although both were well aware of the date and time.

  ‘Look, ‘ee was in the Dog and Rabbit,’ said Eli as he hurriedly reconsidered his position and changed tack, answering before Tiley could deliver the confirmation.

  Smalacombe sat down again. ‘So, you do know something about him?’

  ‘I didn’t know ‘im from Adam.’

  ‘I want more than that, Mr. Crouche, I haven’t got time to be pissed around,’ Smalacombe said resorting to his stock phrase. ‘Now, you had better tell me all you know about what happened when you met Budge in the pub. I want to know what he was drinking, who he was talking to, what he was wearing, what the hell he was doing there, how many times he went to the bog and when he farted. Now, if I don’t get this to my satisfaction, I’ll see to it that you’re banged up with him in Exeter.’

  Eli knew he was in a fix; he had already had close contact with Budge and he wasn’t keen to re-live the experience. On the other hand he couldn’t trust Smalacombe. He had also found, to his cost on previous occasions, that coppers’ promises were vague and worthless. However, the last thing he wanted was to be incarcerated with a psychopath.

  ‘Can ‘ee see to it that I gets bail?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s up to the magistrate, not me, but with your record and with the illegal possession of cartridges some of which were used to murder Rebbeca Winsom…’ Smalacombe paused, shook his head with theatrical effect to let the significance of what he was saying sink in. ‘And, worse, you won’t tell us where they came from, nor will you tell us where the gun is,’ he added, as a final condemnation. Smalacombe pursed his lips and again shook his head slowly to emphasise the hopelessness of Eli’s situation. ‘I can’t make any promises. I can ease off a bit but I’m going to need an awful lot to persuade the bench,’ he suggested. It wasn’t much but Eli calculated it was a better bet than facing Budge in Exeter jail. After all, Budge would have worked out that it was he who had put the police on his tail and heaven knows where that would lead.

  ‘Let’s go back to our last meeting,’ Tiley said, ‘you told us you sold the rings to a man in a pub.’

  ‘Well, I did,’ Eli answered.

  ‘That man was Budge, right?’ Eli looked away at first, with a look of frustration, as he weighed up whether to agree or not. When he had made up his mind he looked back at Smalacombe and nodded, accompanying the action with a look of resignation and a long sigh. The two detectives sensed he was about to say something and they held fire whilst Eli thought it through. He looked to the solicitor who simply nodded. As they all do, Smalacombe reflected. They didn’t have to wait long.

  “Ee comes into the pub from time to time. ‘Ee’s a ‘ard bugger. I was always wary of ‘en, I tell ‘ee. He knows Brian, the barman, pretty well. They’m mates, I reckon. Well, this day ‘ee was there talking to Brian, but ‘ee always calls ‘en Del, I dawn know why. Don’t make any sense to me.’ Smalacombe raised his eyebrows at this revelation. He looked across to Tiley who pulled down the corners of his mouth, shook his head and shrugged, as an indication it made no sense to him either. This was yet another angle. Eli ignored their glances and continued, ‘‘Ee was standin’ nex’ to me an’ I ‘ad a bit of a cold see. I pulled me handkerchief out and pulled the bloody rings out with ‘en, all over the bloody floor. Anyway, I said nort an’ I put ‘em back in quick an’ got on wi’ me drinking.’ Now he was getting into the flow of things, Eli gradually became more relaxed; he had made the decision to co-operate, although there were still some things he hoped could be avoided.

  ‘Well, then I went for a pee. I never gived it a thought, but the bugger followed me in. ‘Ee pushed me in the cubicle an’ got me up against the wall. I thought ‘ee was going to kill me. I tell ‘ee I didn’ need the bloody urinal afterwards an’ that’s a fact.’ He paused and looked down. His demeanour had changed again as he re-lived these moments. ‘‘Ee told me ‘ee wanted the rings an’ wanted to know where I got ‘em from. I told ‘en I didn’t know, so then he caught hold of me bollocks and squeezed. The bugger! Well, what would you do, Mr. Smalacombe?’

  ‘Cough?’ said Smalacombe wryly, and he then reflected, ‘Pity I can’t do the same, I’d say. I’d be guaranteed to get all the information I want.’

&nbs
p; “Ee knew the maid for sure.’

  ‘Maid?’ Tiley queried.

  ‘The girl; Anna,’ Smalacombe explained with some irritation

  “Ee said they belongs to Anna don’ em. So, I nods an’ ‘ee went beresk.’

  ‘Berserk,’ Tiley corrected.

  ‘Somebody comed in so ‘ee pushed the door to, put the engaged on and nearly strangled me to keep me quiet.’

  ‘With his other hand?’ Smalacombe enquired.

  ‘Oh, bloody ‘ell yes, ‘ee didn’t stop down there, ‘ees a bloody psycho, I tell ‘ee.’

  ‘So, what did you tell him about the girl?’ Tiley pressed him to explain further.

  ‘Well, when the other bloke went out he started up again. I told ‘en just that I found ‘er an….’

  ‘No,’ Smalacombe interrupted, ‘there was more to it than that wasn’t there?’

  Eli looked blank; he felt he had divulged enough, but Smalacombe was calling his bluff. ‘If you want to go home tomorrow night you can’t be selective. You’re in the shit already. So a bit more isn’t going to make much difference is it.’

  ‘Yea, well, all right,’ Eli began reluctantly using mots vide to delay the inevitable. ‘I was down the river an’ I ‘eard this commotion. I could see two people with something in a wheelbarra’. They was strugglin’ and then the bloody thing tipped over and something fell in the river. I could ‘ear ‘em talking, arguing more like and they was splashing about in the water. They sounded all panicky and upset. It was the two women up the ’ouse, I recognized the voices. Course, then I realized what was goin’ on. Bloody scary I can tell ‘ee.’

  ‘So, when they had gone you took the rings: but, why the one earring?’

  ‘I couldn’t get ‘old of t’other one. ‘Twas underneath ’er.’

  ‘I don’t believe it, Eli. You had a torch; even you would have seen they were worth a bob or two, as a pair. If you ripped the top one off you could have done the same with the other one.’

  ‘You didn’t see the bloody mess her was in. I didn’t want to fiddle about movin’ ‘er.’

  ‘You saw an opportunity to make a bit with the rings on her fingers and a chance to get back at the two women with her earring.’ Eli didn’t answer.

  ‘A bit of blackmail perhaps? Nice little earner, and regular. What do you say?’

  ‘They’d gived Johnnie Hempson a bad time, I thought us could get our own back a bit.’

  ‘So, Hempson was in on it?’ Tiley asked.

  ‘No, I didn’t mean that. It was all spur of the moment stuff. Well, they deserved what come to ‘em. I tell ‘ee.’

  ‘Did you tell Budge all of this?’

  ‘Course I did, I’d ‘ave told ‘en who was goin’ to win nex’ year’s bloody Gran’ National if ‘eed asked.’

  ‘Now, there’s one or two other things we need to ask you,’ Smalacombe said.

  ‘If it’s all the same to you, Mr. Smalacombe, I don’t feel so good. Could ‘ee carry on another time perhaps?’ The two detectives looked to one another and realised the interview had been a serious trauma for the defendant. He was clearly scared out of his wits about Budge and the consequences if he came into contact with him again.

  ‘OK, but I’ve to sort this out before you go to court, you know; the cartridges, the gun and all of that. Just one more thing for now; how much did Budge give you for the rings?’

  ‘You got to be bloody jokin’. He fished ‘em out of me pocket an’ that’s the las’ I saw of ‘em. I tidied me sel’ up a bit an’ when I got back to the bar, ‘ed gone.’

  ‘What did Brian say?’

  ‘Nort. Twas as if ‘ee didn’t know what had happened.’

  ‘Perhaps he didn’t. There was no reason for him to know what went on in his toilets when he wasn’t looking.’

  ‘Look, I can’t face this Budge bloke in prison.’

  ‘I know. Well, you know what to do. We’ll have to clear it all up next time or it will be too late.’

  ‘I can’t clear it up.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I just can’t. All right!’ He looked forlornly at the desk top.

  ‘It’s not enough.’ Eli never moved.

  As usual after such events, the pair went back to Smalacombe’s office to hold a post-mortem. Within the last twenty-four hours they had had three interviews and got little more out of them than they had already suspected. There was however, just one extra piece of information that might be useful.

  ‘Ask Sheldon what he can find out about Brian Constance the barman; in particular, this Del thing. Seems to me Constance isn’t who he says he is and if he knows Budge he certainly needs investigating.’

  ‘Perhaps it was he who asked Budge down here,’ Tiley suggested.

  ‘Now, there’s a thing, and why would he do that I wonder?’

  DC Barry Sheldon was quick off the mark and it soon became apparent to him that Brian Constance didn’t exist. There was a Professor Brian Constance at the University of the South West, there was a Doctor Brian Constance, a GP in Plymouth and a lad who worked in a ship repairer in Kingsbridge, but of Brian Constance of the Dog and Rabbit, there was no record. More to the point, he discovered he was not on the electoral role but there was a Mavis Wright registered at that address.

  He established that she was the licensee of the premises but, as they all knew, she was not living at the inn as the licence declared. She did exist, she had no police record, and so he concluded that Constance was using her as a front to hold the licence, possibly because he had a police record of his own that would have excluded him.

  Mavis Wright’s only misdemeanour, it seemed, was that she had disappeared and was playing no part in the running of her pub. But that was no crime and if anything was irregular it would be a matter for the licensing authorities. Clive Tiley leaned over his shoulder and asked what he had found out so far? Sheldon filled him in with the information.

  ‘The next job is to try and trace Mavis and to sort out why Budge was calling Constance, Del. I have an idea about that and I don’t think it will take me too long,’ Sheldon explained. ‘Give me another couple of hours and I think I’ll have something for you.’ He clicked away on his keyboard and the screen in front of him changed constantly. Tiley decided to leave him to it and he returned to his desk to try to catch up on matters left outstanding from the day he was assigned to the Anna Turle case.

  Meanwhile Smalacombe was considering his own course of action. He decided it was time to address the question of Crouche’s shotgun. So far they had had no clue of the murder weapon. Certainly, the cartridges came from Eli but without the gun they could not move forward. He was the Sadaam Hussein of Dartmoor; everyone knew he had a weapon - it was just a matter of finding it. It was also certain that Eli Crouche was implicated in this crime, but by how much he couldn’t be sure. If they could find that it was his gun that did the damage, well then, case closed. On the other hand, if it wasn’t, then it would be time for yet another rethink. His immediate strategy was now clear: find the weapon.

  The trouble was Dartmoor was four hundred square miles, of which about half was wilderness. Someone like Eli Crouche knew it like the back of his hand and it was hard to know where to start. What he needed was a great deal more background about him, the places he frequented as a child, and the places he felt at ease with, somewhere he felt was his. The first assumption would be around his premises but forensics and the dogs had been there a dozen times and found nothing. Smalacombe was sure that Crouche would not have just buried the thing in the middle of nowhere but would be using a place of some significance to him. Along the river perhaps, a fisherman’s hut, he thought? Too obvious! He picked up Eli Crouche’s file for the umpteenth time, but this time he had no idea what he was looking for, except that when he found it he would know what it was.

  CHAPTER 17

  Wednesday afternoon July 12th

  In the afternoon, Smalacombe drove along the narrow street to the west of Moreton’s centre not surpris
ingly named West Street and looked for number twenty-three. The road was too narrow to pull up by the door but a little further down where a new development had been completed the road widened and cars were lined up in a parking bay. To his relief, he noted there were a few spaces.

  He walked back to the small terraced cottage that stood out from its neighbours because it was cared for with a passion that only someone who had invested a lifetime in it would have understood. Its windows were without a blemish and the newly laundered, white net curtains behind them maintained privacy in the rooms that were overlooked from the narrow pavement. The cottage’s whitewashed stone façade was a perfect background for the hanging baskets on brackets on either side of the door, which contained vivid collections of surfinia, impatiens and nasturtiums, freshly watered and glistening, as the drops reflected the sunlight like a thousand mirrors. The doorstep with its brass fitting was brightly polished and when he went to use the brass knocker a distorted view of his own reflection stared back at him. An old lady came to the door that opened directly into a living room. She was dressed in a floral apron and fluffy red slippers and she was as neat and tidy as everything else around her.