The Missing Earring

by David Beard

  She rounded a large tree and hurriedly lowered her underwear, lifted her skirt and squatted to relieve herself.

  The relief was pleasurable and as she was urinating she watched the trickle begin so modestly and then become a rivulet running away in front of her to disappear in the undergrowth. As soon as she was sure that her discharge was not in danger of flooding her shoes she idly looked around at her surroundings and the incongruity of what she saw to her right did not at first register with her. From her position, with a lowered eye level, she stared up at a pair of legs at her side. It wasn’t until she looked the second time that she realised that the feet were hanging down and the whole body to which they belonged was suspended over the woodland’s carpet and it was gently swinging in the draught that ran through the trees.

  She screamed and fell forward into her urine, her knickers disabled her and hampered her every movement as she tried desperately to gain her composure and run back to the car. She rose and fell immediately, this time face down and the only effective things she managed to do were to scream and shout for her husband.

  Eddie was sitting in the car tapping a rhythm on the steering wheel to the tune on the radio and at first he was unsure what the noise was. After the third or fourth shriek he realised it was coming from Millie’s direction and he ran into the woods to see what the trouble was. Within a very short space of time he had helped her back to the car and had pressed the emergency call button on his mobile. It was only whilst they waited for the police to arrive, locked in their car, that they noticed the empty car parked behind them.

  Smalacombe knew that this time his discussion with Mavis Wright was going to be a difficult one. He had arranged to meet her at the Dog and Rabbit after evening closing time, as he didn’t feel it could wait until the morning. Clive Tiley trailed in after him when Mavis unbolted the door and ushered them in. They sat in the same place as before and Smalacombe could not disguise his unease.

  ‘You look very uncomfortable, Mr. Smalacombe,’ she said.

  Smalacombe was also worried because Mavis looked extremely tired after a hard day’s work and he wondered how well she would cope with his news. ‘Mavis, I’m afraid I’ve got some very bad news for you.’ This was not the first time by a long shot that he had been faced with such a scenario but it never got any easier and with all his experience he knew that there was no effective way to soften the blow. The sooner he got it over with the better. Mavis looked at him intently and Smalacombe’s opening gambit warned her that the next few minutes were going to be extremely uncomfortable.

  ‘We’ve found Brian,’ he paused, watching her intently whilst he built up the courage to tell her the rest.

  ‘Found?’ she queried. It seemed an odd turn of phrase.

  Smalacombe nodded.

  ‘Oh my God,’ she shrieked and held her hands to her mouth as she anticipated Smalacombe’s next piece of news.

  ‘I’m afraid he’s dead,’ he said in a matter of fact manner. Experience had told him there was no other way to deliver it.

  Her eyes filled but she worked furiously to keep her composure. Her premonition had been justified. She lowered her hands. ‘How?’ she asked, relieved that one word was sufficient.

  ‘He was found hanged in a wood in Kent.’

  ‘Hanged? What was he doing in Kent?’ she asked, biting her lower lip.

  ‘He had a ferry ticket on him. My guess is he was intending to go abroad but suddenly decided he couldn’t face running forever.’

  ‘You’re suggesting that this was not a murder then?’

  He shook his head and paused for it to register with her. ‘Definitely not. He had a letter on him addressed to you. Perhaps you’d like to read it.’ Smalacombe handed her the envelope and deliberately omitted to tell her that he knew what the contents were. She opened it, placed it on the table in front of her, and read.

  My Darling Mavis,

  I want you to know that the only good thing that ever happened to me was meeting you and the only time of my life that had any meaning was the time we spent together. You took me from the gutter and gave me freedom, self respect, a purpose in life and happiness. Above all you gave me love and I did my best to return it. I never realised until then that such things were possible and those years together have made my life worthwhile.

  But, I’ve blown it big time and I know it’s all over. As always you were right and I was wrong. Please don’t blame Kelvin for all of this, it was always within my power to say no, but I didn’t.

  I can’t face prison again and this time it will be a long stretch and possibly forever. Even worse, I now realise I can’t face a life without you either. So, all my grand plans to take the money and find a life in the sun, away from it all, are all for nothing.

  Instead, I’ve seen to it that you will not be short; all the bills have been paid so that you can get on with your life. You don’t need me and I’m sure you will soon find someone else to load up the barrels.

  I love you so much it hurts but I know you would never take the old Derek back so this is the only way out.

  Take care

  Brian.

  The letter rested on the table top between her elbows and she held her head in her hands as she read. The tears dropped on to the page and smudged the writing. When she finished, she rested her head on the table and sobbed uncontrollably. The sight of a beautiful woman was always a great joy to Smalacombe and as a happily married man he could admire them from afar, (except the once, as he often recalled with considerable distaste at his own failing), but a distressed beautiful woman made him indescribably emotional. He wanted to reach across and hold her tightly, to stroke her hair and tell her everything would work out fine. Heavenly creatures like Mavis Wright should never have to suffer the indignities of such distress.

  Instead, Smalacombe jerked his head to Tiley indicating for him to leave. He got up and made to go. Mavis grabbed his sleeve without looking up and pulled at it as a gesture for him to sit and remain.

  ‘I just want to go for a pee,’ he explained, ‘I won’t be long and it’ll give you a bit of time.’

  The two detectives stood in the toilet, neither wishing to use the urinal and each in turn looked at the floor and then to each other. Smalacombe sighed deeply, ‘Sometimes I hate this fucking job,’ he said. He decided to wash his hands to fill in the time.

  ‘It’s times like these when I’m glad you’re the boss,’ Tiley confided, leaning against the frame of the cubical door that had previously concealed the terrible assault that Budge committed on Eli Crouche. ‘You know, I really think Constance had turned the corner until that shitty brother of hers came on the scene again.’

  ‘That bastard’s got a lot to answer for,’ Smalacombe replied, as he dried his hands under the blow drier. ‘Why do these bloody things make your hands feel grubbier instead of cleaner?’ He checked his watch. ‘Let’s try again, Clive.’ They both repaired to the bar.

  ‘I’m truly sorry, Mavis,’ he said.

  ‘There’s no such thing as fairy tales is there?’ she sniffed and blew her nose.

  ‘Can I ask a few questions? Do you feel up to it?’

  ‘Of course, but can I ask you something?’ He nodded his head almost imperceptibly. ‘What about this money; will it all have to be returned? I mean, will I have to make up all that has been spent?’

  ‘We won’t know until we find where it came from. If it’s any help it’s not something I shall be making a big deal of. My guess is, if the money was handed over of someone’s free will…’

  ‘You mean he was a hit man?’ She shook her head. ‘Please don’t say that.’

  Smalacombe obliged and carried on. ‘Even if it was for such a dreadful crime, then I can’t see they have any claim on it. I mean they bought a service and don’t deserve it back anyway. On the other hand if it was stolen…’

  ‘I’m not asking out of greed, it’s just that if I have to find twenty-five thou then I don’t know how I shall cope.’

&nb
sp; ‘When Brian phoned you the last time, did he give you any hint about money troubles or that he was getting a windfall, anything like that?’

  ‘Nothing. He just said he wanted a break. That was understandable under the circumstances.’

  ‘Did he mention any names, places perhaps?’

  ‘No. I was pretty cold towards him so the conversation was monosyllabic from my end. I didn’t encourage any elaboration. So, it was just the basics really. I want a holiday and will you take over for a while?’ Tears welled up again. ‘If I had only stuck with him, I could have persuaded him, I know and all this would never have happened.’

  ‘I am absolutely sure there is nothing you should reproach yourself for. Brian confirms that in his letter. For what it’s worth, it’s a beautiful letter and I think he did the decent thing. He could have done this and left nothing, no note, and then you would have never known.’ She looked unsure. ‘Look! Why do you think he cleared all the debts for you? With his past I would have expected him to walk away with the money, but he didn’t. That must tell you something about how important you were to him.’

  She stood, wiped her eyes and straightened up. ‘Would you like a drink, gentlemen? It’s on the house of course.’

  As they drove slowly back to Exeter, Smalacombe tried to analyse how he approached the interview. ‘Do you think I could have handled it better?’ he asked.

  ‘You did it better than I ever could,’ Tiley replied. ‘You can’t tell someone their partner is a little bit dead and you’ll be able to confirm it in two days time.’

  ‘She took it badly. Is she going to be all right do you think?’

  ‘She’s got a lot do there. By ten o’clock tomorrow morning she will be too busy to think about it. Anyway, look on the bright side; we’ve got the two murderers.’

  ‘Yes and both are dead. Frankly we’re back to square one; it’s the bastard who paid Constance that we really want, and we’re still left with two suspects. This isn’t enough.’

  ‘We’ve got three suspects actually,’ Tiley advised.

  ‘How do you work that out? It’s Golding or Hempson for sure.’

  ‘No, there’s Budge remember.’

  ‘Oh give over; if he wanted to kill someone he’d do it himself.’

  ‘No, not in this case,’ said Tiley persisting with his argument. ‘The Met want him for a series of armed robberies, post offices and building societies, so he’s got the readies. That’s the first thing. Secondly, he was besotted with Anna Turle; everybody says so, so he had a motive. Third, he was a good mate of Constance and he wouldn’t want to see him and his sister in the financial poo. “Do this for me Brian and I’ll pay off the debts that you’ve accumulated because of these bastards”. It makes sense.’

  ‘Plausible, I’ll give you that, but I just don’t buy it.’

  ‘Look, Dexter, think about the money. Budge would have had access to cash. Golding? Well she probably has a lot of cash business too. After all, cabinet ministers won’t be happy to use their credit cards for that, will they? So, she could find the readies. But, Hempson? No chance! He doesn’t deal in cash, so how is he going to come by twenty five grand without drawing it out from somewhere?’ Smalacombe didn’t answer but watched the road ahead as they neared Exeter. ‘I’ll give you evens on Budge, five to one Golding and hundred to one Hempson.’

  ‘You’d make a lousy bookmaker, Clive. With those odds I can back all three and be bound to win.’

  ‘I never did understand the probs even when I did my A levels,’ he sulked.

  Smalacombe dropped Clive Tiley off at his home and then drove to his office before going back to Freda. He was not satisfied that they were even on the right track as far as the money was concerned and it had occurred to him that the weekend was an ideal time to stay at home and think the whole thing through. He gathered up as much of the paperwork as he could find and arrived home at around two in the morning. Whatever were the rules concerning the movement of written evidence, he wasn’t bothered. He just wanted somewhere quiet, where he could work without interruption.

  CHAPTER 21

  Monday July 17th

  It was not the first time that Freda had had her house filled with files and bits of paper and nor was it the first time that Dexter appeared to be in a world of his own. Conversation was impossible because he was so absorbed in his thoughts that he never heard a word she said. The kitchen table was filled with charts with arrows, scribbled notes, a pile of forms and he sat there poring over them. She couldn’t even repair there and bake a cake to occupy herself.

  At two thirty on the Saturday afternoon she appeared at the kitchen doorway with a suitcase in her hand. ‘Dexter, I’m off to Laura’s to see the kids. I’ll be back tomorrow evening.’ With that summary explanation of her future movements she turned and left. It wasn’t until he heard the door slam that he realised what he had been told. He dropped his pen and rushed out into the front driveway just in time to see her car disappearing around the corner at the bottom of the road.

  Freda’s action had not been entirely unexpected, as he had made it perfectly clear that he wanted peace and solitude and nor was it the first time she had demonstrated her independence. He wandered back and made himself a cup of coffee and concluded that Freda’s decision was the best of all worlds. He had no sense of concern; after all, marriages of their duration didn’t suddenly collapse in this manner. He knew she would return as she said on Sunday evening and he also knew that she understood that as long as he remained a chief inspector these impositions on their relationship would be a fact of life.

  It wasn’t until late on the Sunday afternoon that Dexter formulated a plan of action to solve the problem and even then it wasn’t one of momentous invention nor was he certain that it would reveal the missing link he so badly needed. But, in front of him was all he had and it was clearly incomplete. Therefore, he had decided to re-visit the entire door to doors, made as a result of Anna Turle’s murder and similarly all those interviewed on the days succeeding Winsom’s murder, but this time he and Clive would follow it up personally. He had concluded that there must be some more substance there that had been overlooked or not squeezed out.

  The best argument he had heard so far was the one Clive put forward as they drove back from the Dog and Rabbit on Friday evening. He was right, Budge’s guilt did make logical sense but somehow he wasn’t happy with it; it was all too easy.

  On the Monday morning Smalacombe was re-invigorated and feeling very confident that soon he would be able to wrap up the case to his and Sheila Milner’s satisfaction. He picked Tiley up from his home and they drove once more to Longtor. They started by the bridge and visited Peter Harvey, the old man with the prostate trouble, whose house overlooked the area and whose past information had been of considerable importance.

  Mr Harvey was still in his dressing gown and he led them through to the kitchen as he was eating his breakfast. On the table, amidst the food, his morning paper was laid out. He folded it up and put it back on the welsh dresser at his side.

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t get up very early these days. Now, how can I help you gentlemen?’ he said politely.

  ‘We’ve read both of your statements, sir and they have been very helpful to us,’ Smalacombe began, ‘but what we need now is some more background information.’

  ‘Well, as you know I have a terrible memory, Mr. Smalacombe, but I don’t think I’ve got very much more for you.’

  ‘Just think back, did you tell anyone else about what you saw; your home help maybe, neighbour?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t have a home help; I must be as independent as I can be for as long as I can. In any event, they’re very hard to come by out here.’

  ‘I understand. It’s just that it’s my guess that such an unusual event as this is something you would pass on in the normal course of your conversations. After all, there was a considerable amount of excitement in the village at that time. It’s not something you see every day is it?’

/>   ‘That’s true.’

  ‘Friends? Family?’ Smalacombe prompted again; by now already thinking about the next interviewee on the list.

  ‘Well, I suppose I would have told my daughter come to think of it.’

  ‘When would that have been?’

  ‘Oh, she came with me to the hospital and stayed with me for most of the afternoon. Of course, she also comes down here pretty often to help me out. I do recall I did discuss with her what I saw.’

  ‘Is your daughter local?’ asked Clive Tiley, making his first contribution to the interview.

  ‘Oh yes. She lives just up the road at High Wells.’ The two detectives exchanged glances and the old man noticed. ‘You know it gentlemen?’

  ‘Yes. Tell me, is your daughter Imogen Spicer?’

  ‘How on earth did you know that?’

  ‘Because we know she lives at High Wells, Mr. Harvey. Her husband is away a lot.’

  ‘Yes, he does a lot of travelling. They have an import export business and it’s very successful thank goodness. Business these days is so difficult; it’s a great relief to see them doing so well. They have a place in London and a beautiful holiday home in the Algarve you know. I get to go there on occasion. They also have a place in Barbados but that’s too far for me these days.’

  ‘Imogen must get lonely out here sometimes, Mr Harvey,’ Clive Tiley commented.

  ‘It’s been very difficult for her since the tragedy but I think she is beginning to overcome it.’

  ‘What tragedy was that?’ Smalacombe asked, with a feeling that this interview was becoming very productive.

  ‘Oh, don’t you know? It was in all the papers. They lost their daughter Jayne at the end of last year. It was a terrible business and such a bright girl. She was a student at university.’

  ‘I do remember that, although it was before I arrived here, sir,’ Tiley explained to Smalacombe. ‘She had been off on a wild weekend on the coast, Exmouth I think, and was found on a camp site. It was a drugs overdose I believe.’