by June Tate
‘Go home. Sometimes I go to the pub for a drink or after I’ve cooked something to eat, I might go to the cinema.’
‘You can cook?’ She grinned at him. ‘You sound truly sufficient unto yourself, as the saying goes.’
‘O Lord! That sounds so boring.’
‘Oh, you’re not boring, Ben. Far from it! It’s been nice having you to chat to at work and I’m so grateful for your help at times. Are you now settled in your spot?’
What could he say, knowing that soon he may be moved. ‘I’ll see how it goes. I’m getting used to working in the open. I’m toughening up at last!’
The waiter arrived and removed their empty plates.
‘I do hope you like the dessert I’ve chosen,’ he said. ‘It’s a favourite of mine.’
Phoebe stared at the plate in front of her when the waiter served her. Her eyes lit up when she saw the chocolate mousse, served with ice cream.
‘Oh, Ben! How very decadent.’
‘Tuck in,’ he said, delighted with her obvious enjoyment of his choice.
After they sat drinking coffee. Phoebe looked at Ben and said, ‘I can’t tell you how lovely that meal was. Thank you for inviting me.’
He beamed at her. ‘It was my pleasure, but it’s still early. When we’ve finished the coffee, we could go somewhere for a drink, if you like, to round the evening off before I deliver you to your door.’
‘That would be nice.’
Ben paid the bill and they walked arm in arm to the Red Lion on the high street. They sat at the table with their drinks and when Phoebe said she’d never been there before he told her the history of the place.
‘This is one of the oldest inns in the country. I think it dates back to the twelfth century.’ He pointed out the minstrels’ gallery. ‘I believe it was used as a courtroom for trials of the nobles who plotted against Henry the Fifth.’
‘Really? I had no idea.’ Looking around, she could imagine folk of bygone days in their clothes sitting there listening to such trials. She suddenly shivered. Would she one day be sitting at a trial for murder?
Sensing her change of mood, Ben asked, ‘What is it? You shivered, are you cold?’
‘No, I was just thinking of how awful that must have been for those on trial, that’s all.’
He placed an arm around her shoulders. ‘That was then, Phoebe. Besides, you’re with me, so you’d be safe.’
‘Would you be my knight in shining armour, then?’
‘Not likely! Can you imagine how uncomfortable that would be? No, I’d be wearing a curled wig and an embroidered coat with a sword at my side.’
She started to laugh. ‘You in a wig! Now that would be ridiculous!’
‘Doesn’t sound like me at all, really. I’m so pleased we don’t live in those times.’
‘I think Marj might have enjoyed it,’ she said. ‘Can you imagine?’
‘Oh my, she would have caused havoc!’ They both started laughing at the very idea.
They only had the one drink, knowing that they’d have to be up early in the morning. Ben walked Phoebe home and at her door he took her into his arms. ‘Thank you for this evening, I really enjoyed it.’
Looking up into his eyes, she said, ‘So did I, it was such a treat, Ben. Thank you.’
‘We’ll have to do it again – that’s if you’d like to?’
‘Yes, I would like to.’
‘Good. I’ll see you in the morning.’ He bent his head and kissed her soundly. ‘Goodnight, Phoebe.’
‘Goodnight. See you tomorrow.’
He waited until she’d opened the door and then he left with a wave and a smile.
Phoebe removed her coat and sat in the chair by the fire. Ben had kissed her and she’d liked it. Marj would be delighted, she thought, and chuckled. She went over the evening in her mind and realised that, but for knowing where he lived and his father had survived the war, she was no nearer to learning much about Ben … other than she really liked him. Well, she would see him in the morning and no doubt her friend would give her the third degree, wanting to know every detail of their evening.
However, in the morning when she arrived at the market, it was buzzing with gossip. As she wheeled her stall in place, Phoebe turned to Marj, who was already set up.
‘What’s going on? What have I missed?’
Marj sidled over and quietly said, ‘There’s been a murder. They’ve found a body in the church graveyard. Been there some time, it seems.’
Phoebe froze, and without thinking looked over towards the stall of the Stanley brothers. Percy Stanley happened to look up at the same time and saw her gaze. His eyes narrowed as he noted how scared she looked before she turned away.
‘You all right, love?’ asked Marj. ‘Only you’ve suddenly gone so pale. Not sickening for summat, are you girl?’
‘No, no. It was just a shock, that’s all. Who is it, do they know?’
‘Not yet, they only came across it this morning when the gravediggers arrived to dig another grave for a funeral tomorrow. Terrible shock, it was. Poor buggers.’ She went to turn away and stopped. ‘I forgot! ’Ow was your date last night with young Ben?’
Happy to change the subject, Phoebe smiled. ‘It was lovely. He took me out to dinner, then we went to the Red Lion for a drink before he walked me home.’
Marj sidled up to her. ‘Did he kiss you goodnight?’ she whispered. Then seeing the sudden flush of Phoebe’s cheeks, she cackled. ‘Lucky girl.’ She looked around. ‘Where is Ben? ’E ain’t here yet. Not like ’im to be late.’
Ben had been summoned early to police headquarters and told about the murder.
‘We believe it’s the body of Frank Clarke, a fence from Bournemouth. A letter addressed to him was found in one of his pockets. The body has decomposed, of course, but the bitterly cold weather has preserved it somewhat. We’re just waiting for confirmation. It’s possible he came up to Southampton to see the Stanley brothers – but that’s only supposition at this point.’
‘Have you any idea when he died?’
‘Not yet. We’re waiting for a report from the pathologist. But keep a close watch on the brothers in the market. Percy already has a record for grievous bodily harm in the past.’
Ben left and headed for his lock-up. He thought back to the night when he’d checked the brothers’ lock-up and found the sand on the soles of his shoes. It didn’t make any sense then, but it could be important if Clarke had been at the market for a meet. He’d have to wait to see if the timing was right. He’d made a note of his findings along with his reports on the brothers.
Phoebe was relieved when she saw Ben eventually arrive and hurried over to him.
‘Are you all right? It’s not like you to be late. You’re usually here before me, I was worried.’
‘Oh, thank you, Phoebe, I had an emergency dental appointment. That’s all,’ he lied. ‘How are you this morning?’
‘You won’t have heard, but there’s been a murder. A body was found in the churchyard early this morning.’
He feigned surprise. ‘Really? How dreadful. Who was it, does anyone know?’
‘No, other than it was male.’
He saw her drawn expression. ‘Now don’t you worry yourself about it, Phoebe. Sadly these things happen, not too often, thankfully.’ He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. ‘It’s nothing for you to worry about.’
How she longed to tell him the whole story, but she dare not. It was a secret she had to keep. ‘You’re right, of course. It’s just something that’s too close to home, that’s all.’ She walked back to her stall.
Percy Stanley was unsettled. Yes, Clarke’s body had been found, that had to happen at some time, but why had the girl on the fruit and veg stall looked so scared when he caught her looking at him? It didn’t make sense. He realised that she was wary of him, but she wasn’t the only one in the market to be so. It suited him to have people fear him. Everyone here knew he’d served a short term in prison for GBH, which mad
e them careful around him, but the look on the girl’s face was more than that. He couldn’t understand it and that was a worry. He didn’t like uncertainties, not in his line of business.
Chapter Seven
Percy Stanley spent the day watching Phoebe. He was decidedly edgy. He was aware that after that first glance, which had bothered him, the girl had kept her back to his stall so she wasn’t able to see him. That too was unusual. In the market you’re too busy serving to bother where you stand, but she was making a determined effort to block him. Why would she do that? And at this particular time? It had been late in the evening when he’d met Clarke, the market had been deserted. She wasn’t there – no one was around, only that bloody cat that had startled him. He’d stopped and looked back, but the place was empty. He shook his head, it didn’t make sense. Eventually he dismissed it, putting it down to nerves. He had no doubt the Old Bill would come round asking questions at some time, and they would certainly question him and his brother, he was sure of that. Well, let them! No one had seen them remove the body and then deposit it in the churchyard, so there was no proof. The sacks that had covered Clarke had been burnt, so there was absolutely nothing to tie them to the incident.
Phoebe was only too happy to leave that evening as everyone was discussing the murder, but when she arrived home her mother had also heard the news and started talking about it.
Phoebe stopped her in midsentence. ‘Can we change the subject, Mum? It’s all I’ve heard all day long and I really don’t want to hear any more.’
Mary stared at her daughter. It was unlike Phoebe to be so snappy. ‘All right, love, if you say so.’
Phoebe was immediately contrite. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to bite your head off, but I’m fed up hearing about it and what’s more I’m cold and tired.’
‘You sit by the fire, love, and get warm. I’ll brew us a fresh pot of tea.’
As she did so, Mary was thinking how fortunate they were to have the stall. Without it, and the income that Phoebe brought home, they would be in dire straits, yet she felt guilty that her daughter was being denied a better life, going out, meeting other young people instead of working so hard to feed and house them. What she earned from taking in washing certainly wasn’t enough on its own. Perhaps this new bloke in the market would be the one for Phoebe, but if he was – what then? How would she and Tim survive? He was only ten, not old enough to find a job. She pushed such thoughts to the back of her mind as she poured Phoebe a cup of tea and one for herself.
‘How was your evening, love? I was in bed when you got home. Did you have a good time?’
Thankful for a change of subject, Phoebe told her mother about the food and the new restaurant, then the history of the Red Lion.
Mary smiled. ‘I knew about that. Your dad and I used to go there for a drink on pay day before we had you kids.’
Looking at her mother, Phoebe’s gaze softened. ‘You really miss him, don’t you?’
With a wan smile Mary answered, ‘Every minute of every day. He was a good man as you know, working with him as you did.’ She paused. ‘You remember him, but young Tim’s memory fades as he grows up. That makes me sad. But maybe it’s for the best.’
‘Where is Tim?’ Phoebe asked, suddenly realising her brother wasn’t there.
‘He’s gone to play with the lad a couple of doors down. He’d done his homework, so I let him go. He’ll be back soon.’
At that very moment, Tim came rushing through the door.
‘There’s been a murder! They found a body in the churchyard.’
His mother tried to shush him, but he was too excited to notice.
‘Imagine that. It must have been a shock for the men who found him. I bet they were scared. I would have been.’
‘Enough, Tim!’ Phoebe turned to him. ‘This isn’t the kind of conversation I want after a long day’s work.’
‘But Phoebe—’
‘I said enough! Now wash your hands ready for supper.’
Mary followed him into the kitchen, and putting her arm around him she whispered, ‘She’s tired, love, and all they’ve talked about in the market is the murder and she’s had enough. All right?’
He just nodded, washed his hands and went back and sat at the table, ready to eat.
Phoebe wasn’t the only one to be on edge. Arthur Stanley was sitting alone in his local, silently cursing his brother. His temper had put them both in danger. Percy could end up with a death sentence and he could spend years in prison, his life wasted for nothing. The police were bound to come round to question them if they discovered the identity of the victim. He wasn’t worried, he’d just deny everything, but Percy was so hot-headed and if he lost his temper, he might give the game away. He ordered another drink.
Days passed. Clarke’s brother had posted him missing and after finding a letter with his name on it in his pocket, his brother was informed and asked to come to Southampton to identify the body. It was a gruesome thing to have to do after so long, but Jimmy Clarke recognised the watch and ring that had been removed.
The police interviewed Jimmy afterwards.
‘Have you any idea as to why he would come up to Southampton?’ he was asked.
‘I had a drink with him the night before he went missing. He said he was coming to see a customer, someone he’d dealt with years before. I gathered that whoever it was, was not anyone he had a lot of time for.’
‘Did he mention this person’s name?’
Shaking his head Jimmy said, ‘No, and I didn’t ask. I wasn’t really interested. Me and my brother don’t work together. I’m a carpenter. I mend furniture, make doors and tables, all legit! We live in different worlds and look where he’s ended up! Now I’ll have to arrange a funeral.’
When Ben read the medical report, he checked with his notes and realised the night he’d gone to the brothers’ lock-up could possibly be around the time of the murder. He mentioned it to Detective Inspector Jack Bentley, who was in charge of the case.
‘It all seemed a bit strange at the time. I couldn’t understand the use of sand. If you spill something, a bucket of water is usually sufficient to clean up, but I’m wondering now if it has any significance? Sand would soak up any blood before it was washed away.’
The detective turned to his colleague. ‘Bet you ten to one he came to see Percy Stanley. There were three houses robbed on Christmas Eve and some jewellery was among the missing items. It was a professional job, no fingerprints. Maybe Clarke came to buy the goods and they met at the lock-up. If there was a fight and Clarke was killed, there would be a considerable amount of blood to clean up. Maybe that’s where the sand was used. Then they dumped him in the churchyard!’
‘We could get a search warrant for the Stanleys’ house and take a look,’ his colleague suggested.
‘We could indeed. Mind you, he’s probably stashed the stuff away by now, but if we search the house, it might just rattle his cage and he may decide to move it. He’s under observation in the market, so if we don’t find anything at the house, we’ve got tabs on him if he goes to collect something. Chances are it will unsettle him if he had anything to do with the crime. That’s when villains make mistakes.’ He rose to his feet. ‘Come along, let’s get on with it.’
That evening, as the brothers sat down to eat, there was a loud banging on the front door. Percy opened it to be confronted by the detective inspector and several policemen.
Waving the warrant, Bentley pushed his way in. ‘I’ve a search warrant to go over your house.’ Turning to two of the officers, he sent them upstairs and the rest started to open up cupboard doors and pull out drawers, spilling the contents on the floor.
Arthur sat at the table watching them, holding his breath as his brother protested.
‘I hope you’re going to put all that back,’ he complained, pointing to the mess on the floor. He was ignored. He sat at the table and lit a cigarette. ‘I’ve no idea what you’re looking for, gents, but you’re wasting your time.’ His
brother kicked him under the table and frowned at him.
The police were thorough in their search but found nothing.
Percy sneered at them. ‘Didn’t I tell you?’
Bentley glared at him. ‘Think you’re clever, don’t you? It’s only a matter of time!’ He walked out of the house followed by the others. Turning to one of the men, he said, ‘He’s moved the stuff, now he’ll be watched even closer because he’ll want rid of the goods if he’s tied to the murder. We just have to be patient.’
Inside the house, Arthur let out a sigh of relief. ‘Thank God that’s over. Now what?’
‘I’ll have to get rid of the stuff we took. I can’t risk trying to sell it now. It’s the only thing that could tie us into Clarke. We’ll just have to bide our time. Pity, it’s worth a bomb!’
‘Jesus! Never mind the money, it could put both of us away and you at the end of the hangman’s noose.’
‘Will you shut your mouth! I’m not going down for murder, no way. I just need time to think.’
‘Where have you hidden the spoils?’
‘Best you don’t know, then you can’t tell anyone.’
With a look of astonishment Arthur snapped back at him. ‘What do you mean? If I was to tell someone, I’d be sent to prison too, and I can assure you that no one is going to put me behind bars.’
‘Well I’ve just removed the temptation.’ He glared at his brother. ‘I don’t trust anybody, not even you.’
Arthur just stared at him, lost for words.
Chapter Eight
As the weeks passed, the thoughts of the murder had begun to fade from most people’s minds. Life continued in the market. Phoebe and the Stanley brothers were the only people still living with the memory. She tried to shut the violent scene from her mind and continue her daily routine. Every day she saw the man who had committed it and she was still nervous around him, but she did her best to hide her feelings.
