Blood and Broomsticks

by Jean G. Goodhind

  Three Dresden figures were next into the bag, closely followed by some fine pieces of sterling silver. Two silk covered scatter cushions – the very smallest – were also stuffed into the bag – not because they were valuable, purely to protect the more valuable items. Concerned that two would not be enough to prevent damage, he shoved in a couple more so that the valuables were cocooned in silk covered softness. Finally, he zipped the bag closed, buffeting it both sides with a final pat of his hands.

  It struck him then how well things had gone and made him laugh out loud. My, but he was so clever, though not too clever for his own good. His cleverness was balanced and nothing, absolutely nothing could fail.

  Bag clutched in his right hand, he closed the door behind him and made his way to the rear of the house. He listened before unlocking the door that led to the steps going out into the garden. The garden was shared with the other residents and was a peaceful, pleasant area as long as he avoided looking at Mrs Nobbs’ collection of garden gnomes. The woman was a philistine. The gnomes were plastic. If they’d been made of traditional plaster he would have smashed them all by now. Every so often he stole one and put it in the dustbin. Mrs Nobbs would complain to everyone that some vandal had climbed over the back fence and stolen one of her ‘boys’. Boys! A stupid description for a collection of garish plastic figures.

  It was pure impulse that made him grab the nearest monstrosity and shove it into the bag along with the fine artefacts – devilishness in fact. The old crow would leap up and down when she found another of her plastic family had gone missing. He cheered up at the thought of it, finding it strange that it actually made him feel less guilty about what he was about to do.

  The garden shed was his and his alone and as such he had the only key. After assuring himself that nobody was nosing out of one of the windows gracing the rear of the house – Mrs Nobbs was at her daughter’s this week – he shoved the key in the stout padlock and pulled open the door.

  The smell of treated wood poured out of the opening – a pleasant smell, he thought. This was the place where he kept things that had no place in his mother’s fine apartment but were part of that other life – the one he kept secret from the people who thought they really knew him.

  Bearing in mind that the bag was full of valuable things, he set it down carefully behind a tin chest painted dark purple. A black pentacle graced its lid and astrological signs its sides; his mother had once been into that sort of thing.

  He was about to leave when a sudden thought struck him. Grinning with evil intent, he unzipped the bag, brought out the gnome, and took out a battery operated jigsaw from its box beneath a small workbench.

  It occurred to him that it would make a bit of noise, but a lot of the people who lived in Lansdown Crescent were either in residence at other properties they owned, at work, or getting on in years and going deaf.

  What a clever boy am I, he thought to himself. When he was a child, his mother had often said how clever he was. In latter years she hadn’t been so forthcoming with praise. Well, he’d show her! Look how clever he was now, robbing his own apartment. Actually, the apartment belonged to his mother and had only been bequeathed to him in her absence.

  ‘It’ll all be yours one day,’ she’d told him.

  He’d grumbled that by the time she’d snuffed it he would be too old to enjoy it. She’d been unmoved.

  Never mind, he thought gleefully. He’d show her how clever he could be. As for that other old bitch, Mrs Nobbs … my, but these old birds made him sick. Why didn’t they just shuffle off the earthly coil or go and live in Cornwall?

  His malice propelled his hand movements. The saw roared into life. Nobody would question him doing a bit of DIY in his shed. Nobody would suspect he could be so vindictive.

  Holding the gnome tightly around its neck, he glared into its fat, shiny face.

  ‘Prepare to meet thy doom!’

  He cackled like he’d seen the wonderfully wicked do in old horror movies. Vincent Price had been his favourite.

  The sound of the saw drowned his ongoing laughter. His face lit up with delight as he sawed off the gnome’s legs. Next he sawed through its plastic knees. Next through its waist and finally, with a bit of fiddling about so he wouldn’t saw off his own fingers, he sawed off its head. Plop! It fell onto the floor.

  Aubrey couldn’t stop his wide mouth from smiling. In fact it was such a stretched smile that he had to lick his lips to ease the dryness.

  All the while he eyed the head lying at his feet. ‘Not so bloody cheerful now, are you?’

  He gave the head a kick. It rolled over and looked up at him, its cheery face unchanged.

  ‘Damn you!’

  Even stamping on it failed to dent the gnome’s plastic smile. Only when he took a hammer to it and smashed its nose and hammered a chisel into its smile, did it finally look destroyed. Kaput! Beyond repair!

  Satisfied at last, he bundled the plastic body parts into a sack, whistling as he padlocked the door and returned the key to his pocket.

  A quick shufty around, making sure nobody was looking out of the rear windows of the crescent, he upended the sack amongst an army of gnomes that were still in one piece.

  Bits of plastic lay scattered amongst the others. To his mind it looked as though the other gnomes were the culprits, gathered around the debris as they were.

  He shoved a fist into his mouth to stop from laughing. Mrs Nobbs would go mad, screeching that murder had been done. The woman paid the inanimate objects the same regard as anyone else might a pet dog or cat; as though they were alive and cared a jot. Stupid cow!

  It pleased him to annoy her; what a tasteless woman she was; plastic gnomes indeed!

  Never mind. Taking revenge on the world – principally elderly women – had made him thirsty. A nice cup of tea next, perhaps with a couple of digestive biscuits. Yes, biscuits eaten and tea drank before his mother came home with him!

  His mother’s new boyfriend wouldn’t be around for much longer. What a joke! Tea and biscuits were his just deserts and very nice, but, first things first. He took out his phone and punched in the number of Manvers Street police station.

  ‘I want to report a theft,’ he said to the person who answered the phone. She asked for his name and address. He gave both willingly. Next she asked for the time the theft had occurred and details of what was missing.

  ‘There’s no need for all that rigmarole; I know who did it, so you can arrest the blighter right away.’ He proceeded to give her the name of his mother’s latest friend. ‘How soon can you be here?’

  Chapter Six

  The atmosphere was tense.

  ‘OK. You asked me to come in and make a statement. Here I am.’

  Doherty appeared nonchalant. He was sitting on his side of the desk tapping a pencil on the desk top, turning it the other way and tapping again.

  To anyone who didn’t know him, he appeared casual, as though this was just a nine to five job and the sooner he was out of here the better.

  Honey knew him well. Looking relaxed was all part of the plan. ‘People drop their guard if they think you’re not paying attention.’

  He might not remember saying that to her, but she remembered.

  As witness to a murder scene, she was feeling somewhat nervous. She hadn’t actually been so close to murder victims before. If she’d walked out of the party earlier, she might even have seen it all happen. How scary would that have been?

  ‘Good party, was it?’

  She met Doherty’s gaze. ‘Define good party. It ended up with two corpses on the premises. OK, it was a Hallowe’en party, but the monsters with hatchets in their heads are never real – well, not usually.’

  ‘Perhaps I should have come after all. It might have kept you out of trouble.’

  ‘I’m not in trouble, am I?’

  He waved a hand as though batting the question aside.

  ‘If you don’t find trouble, it finds you. Take my car for instance … which yo
u did take …’

  ‘At your suggestion!’

  ‘I should have known better,’ he replied gloomily.

  ‘Oh for goodness’ sake!’

  Folding her arms and crossing one leg over the other, she swivelled on her chair so she wasn’t facing him.

  ‘Let’s get back to the party. Did you go alone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘There were people there that you knew?’

  She threw him a stone hurling glare. ‘You know there were.’

  ‘You hadn’t arranged to meet anyone there?’

  Another glare flew across the desk. ‘If you mean did I arrange to meet John Rees there, the answer is …’ She paused. ‘It’s none of your business.’

  ‘It is my business! This is a murder enquiry. It’s nothing personal.’

  She eyed him sidelong. ‘Isn’t it?’

  He shrugged. ‘Not really. And it would help if you could focus on what happened. Now, you went alone, you met up with people you knew …’

  ‘Of course I did. One person in particular was very attentive.’

  ‘Right. The Yank.’

  ‘He’s a bookseller.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Look at him, she thought. Sat there looking as though he’s not really interested in anything that’s going on, and yet … She couldn’t quite face the rest of the sentence. There was an itch under her heart – and in other places – that just couldn’t be scratched. There was only one person who could really scratch that itch, and he was sitting right across from her.

  Bloody men. Bloody car. Boys and their toys!

  ‘Give me it from the beginning.’

  She groaned. ‘I’ve already told you …’

  ‘Tell me again.’

  She went through the events of that night, carefully avoiding repeating anything John Rees had said to her and anything he’d done. She also didn’t admit to drinking more than two glasses of wine.

  When she’d finished, his shoulders heaved in a heartfelt sigh, his biceps threatening to split the sleeves of his shirt.

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t believe it.’

  ‘It’s the honest truth. That’s exactly what happened.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant,’ said Doherty. ‘Only you could go to a Hallowe’en party that actually manages to provide the gruesome dead.’

  ‘It was obviously meant to be. Mary Jane would say that the fates ordained it.’

  ‘Unless the fates are some criminal family I am unaware of, they have nothing to do with it. These people didn’t end up sliding head first down the roof and into those pots by mistake. They were murdered.’

  ‘Well they certainly weren’t practising Olympic swimming. So what’s next?’

  ‘I’m awaiting the post mortem reports but it does look as though each was murdered separately – one in one attic room, one in the other, then individually slid down the Mansard to land head first in the pots; one each.’

  Honey chose to correct him. ‘Urn. It’s an urn. Or rather two urns. One for each body.’

  ‘Whatever. There was no compost in either pot. Very clean, so some blood pooled at the bottom.’

  ‘I wouldn’t expect there to be any earth in there. I shouldn’t think they were ever planted with anything.’

  He looked intrigued. ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘They’re too smooth and clean-looking inside to have ever had anything planted in them. Just a few leaves inside and a bit of weathering on the outside. I wouldn’t have thought they’ve been kept outside before Miss Porter bought them. Besides, they’re made of plastic.’

  ‘Let’s concentrate on the victims. Had you ever met them before that night?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. I’ve already told you. I saw them once before at a meeting the hotels association was holding at Casper’s place. Miss Porter introduced them as the buyers of her property. Couldn’t say I liked what I saw very much. They were falling over themselves to impress on everyone that they knew more about the hospitality trade than anyone there. After that, nobody saw very much of them at all.’

  ‘Was Casper there at this hotels bash?’

  ‘Of course. And he wouldn’t like you calling it a bash.’

  Clasping his hands behind his head, Doherty looked up at the ceiling, a cryptic expression on his face.

  ‘Now let me see if I’m right; Casper took an instant dislike to them. “ Downmarket types. Not the sort we should encourage to front the hospitality trade in this fair city!”’

  His take on Casper’s voice was A1.

  Honey stifled a giggle and shook her head. ‘He didn’t like them but I don’t think he murdered them.’

  ‘Just froze them out?’

  ‘Casper behaved as only Casper does.’

  On the evening in question, Casper had greeted them first, then, once he’d got their measure, had almost totally ignored them.

  There was a marked pause as Doherty leaned forward to study the report sheet sitting in front of him.

  ‘By the way, John Rees corroborates your story. You were together all evening?’

  The tone was accusing. So was the look in his eyes when he raised them to look at her from below an untidy fringe of hair in need of a cut. His chin stubble was so-so too but that was par for the course.

  ‘So why badger me to know who I was with if he’d already told you?’

  ‘I like to cross all the Ts and dot all the Is. Humour me.’

  ‘OK, so let’s recap,’ she said, understanding why interviewees lost their rag under cross-examination. Repeat, repeat, repeat!

  ‘To repeat myself yet again, we were together. I didn’t know he would be there. We met there, and seeing as I was alone and unattached in fact, it made sense for us to hitch up.’

  He tried to hide it, but there was no doubting the wince.

  ‘That was a great outfit by the way. Where did you get the wig?’

  ‘Is this anything to do with the murder?’

  ‘No. I just liked it.’

  ‘Where did they come from – the Crooks? I take it you looked into their background.’

  ‘Reading. Boris Crook had a business there and enquiries are being made of both his business associates and the neighbourhood where he lived. Hopefully we’ll have some background information shortly. Someone’s bound to have known them fairly well. Everyone has friends.’

  ‘He might not have had friends. I wouldn’t have wanted to be his friend. He had a nasty attitude. And he was tall. Very tall.’

  ‘Height doesn’t usually have a bearing on personality.’

  ‘I think he had an issue with his height.’

  ‘We all have issues about something,’ he said, folding his arms. ‘So! Had you planned to go anywhere after the party?’

  ‘Home. Where else would I go?’ Was it her imagination, or did she detect the tension leaving his shoulders. ‘After we’d eaten some supper. We were pretty hungry.’

  A nerve flickered beneath his eye. Ah! So he was jealous.

  ‘So there’s still no sign of any tickets to foreign climes?’

  He shook his head. ‘None were found.’

  ‘How odd. They were packed and ready to go, almost as though it were a sudden decision. I mean, nobody takes over a business and then does a moonlight flit.’

  ‘We don’t know they did a moonlight. Has it occurred to you that they may not have had time to unpack?’

  ‘No way.’ She shook her head. ‘I might think that if they hadn’t presented themselves at the hotels’ association get together. But they did which, despite what we may have thought of their capabilities, means they were planning to make a go of it. For what it’s worth, that’s my take on it.’

  Bringing his hands back from behind his head, he scrutinised her over folded arms.

  Honey tried not to notice the biceps and concentrated on recalling everything she could about that evening, small details pinging into her mind like stray ping pong balls.

  ‘Does
everyone who attended check out?’ she asked.

  Doherty nodded. ‘We’re going through every statement, checking everyone’s background, possible motives etc., So far only the flimsiest of leads. Circumstantial evidence abounds.’

  ‘In what respect?’

  ‘Jim Tetman, alias Spiderman, was in the running to buy Moss End. He was going to convert it into flats. Clive Wilson, you may have noticed him bound in bandages …’

  ‘The mummy!’

  ‘That’s him … he’s an estate agent and would have benefitted from the sale of the apartments. Jim Tetman was going to give him sole agency rights.’

  ‘Well there’s two possibles,’ said Honey who felt somewhat disappointed that she hadn’t known this before.

  Doherty agreed that there was. ‘We also interviewed Felicity Champion who worked for Jim Tetman as his personal assistant. She went with him to the party that night.’

  ‘Young? Long legs? Short skirt?’

  ‘You saw her?’ His expression was one of immediate interest.

  Honey nodded. ‘I think Spiderman was in the process of climbing up her thigh.’

  ‘His wife stayed home. He’d told her he was out of town. They live in Pensford.’

  ‘Whoops! So Spiderman had some explaining to do.’

  Pensford was only a few miles away from Bath. OK, it was out of town, but even in the heaviest traffic, it was less than an hour’s drive.

  ‘Casper’s going to want me to report on this. I would appreciate knowing the details when you have them.’

  When he nodded, his eyes were fixed firmly on her face as though waiting for and expecting something from her. An apology about his car? A confession that she was looking into more than John Rees’s shop?

  There was pride on both sides, so even though she wanted to ask him about the health of his car she was too miffed by his attitude.

  ‘Can I go?’

  He nodded again.

  She got up slowly just in case he changed his mind – or had something else to say; not about the murder but about their relationship. An invitation to dinner, lunch, or a drink would have been considered.