Blood and Broomsticks

by Jean G. Goodhind

  ‘I’m obliged to go with him.’

  ‘Of course you are.’

  She managed a guilty smile. ‘So glad you understand. And we will have lunch, just as soon as this is over.’

  John’s return smile was weak, understanding, and … he didn’t believe a word of it.

  ‘I could be waiting a long time for you and the cop to be finito.’

  ‘I meant …’

  He grinned a little sadly. ‘I know what you meant. See you when I see you.’

  She couldn’t bear to see him go, and she couldn’t bear not to meet up with Doherty.

  A quilted jacket and a pale pink pashmina were all she had time to grab before hurtling out of the door and into Doherty’s car.

  At this time of year the hood was up. The interior smelled of warm leather (Doherty’s jacket), warm plastic (the car), and warm air from the heater.

  Doherty eased the car away from the kerb. The traffic hung around out by the roundabout where Pulteney Street and the A36 converged.

  ‘Rhino is suffering from concussion, though not as though you’d notice. I’ve placed a guard on the door, just in case.’

  ‘Do you think he’s in danger?’

  ‘There are two million reasons why somebody might want a more personal crack at his head. However, my first priority is that he’s likely to do a runner.’

  ‘So the money? Where did it come from?’

  ‘He’s not saying.’

  ‘What about Edna? Did you tell him about her?’

  ‘I did. That’s when I decided to put the guard on the door.’

  ‘And the money?’

  ‘In custody.’

  Rhino was sat up in bed in a side ward, a uniformed bod outside. Blinds had been lowered over the glass upper halves of the partitioning.

  The television was on. Rhino was eyeing it in bleary eyed amazement. He didn’t notice them enter.

  ‘Portuguese.’

  The quizmaster on the TV programme repeated the question.

  ‘What nationality was Henry the Navigator?’

  ‘Portuguese, Portuguese, Portuguese.’ Rhino was transfixed, as though repeating the answer might inspire the quiz competitor to do the same.

  ‘Rhino!’

  The big black man jumped at the sound of his name. His eyes flickered from Doherty to Honey.

  Doherty moved to one side of the bed. Honey stayed at the foot.

  ‘Hi,’ she said waggling her fingers. ‘Remember me?’

  He shook his head and went back to the TV screen.

  Doherty didn’t waste time. ‘Rhino. I want to know where you got that money.’

  Rhino did not respond, his lips forming an answer to the next question asked on the screen without him making a sound.

  Doherty reached for the remote lying on the bedside table and turned it off.

  ‘The money, Rhino. Where did you find it?’

  Rhino closed his eyes and sucked in his lips, almost as though he were wishing them away.

  Honey had what she thought might be a good idea.

  ‘I like quizzes. How about we turn the TV back on?’

  She jerked her chin at Doherty. He frowned then obliged. The TV came back into life and Rhino opened his eyes.

  The same quiz show was on.

  ‘Who was the only king of England to be called “the great”?’

  Honey played dumb. ‘Oh, let’s see …’ Of course she knew. She was Lindsey’s mother and Lindsey lived and breathed history.

  Rhino’s piggy eyes glinted bright and were fixed on the screen.

  ‘Alfred! It’s Alfred!’

  The contestant dithered.

  Doherty shook his head, eyes also on the screen. ‘Where the hell do they get these people from?’

  ‘Is Alfred the right answer, Rhino?’ Honey asked the big man who was almost exploding where he sat.

  ‘’Course it is. Hey, this dude shouldn’t be on this show. Wanker!’

  Honey noticed Doherty’s finger hovering over the off switch and threw him a warning look.

  She addressed Rhino. ‘Do you think you could do better, Rhino?’

  His eyes shone with enthusiasm. ‘You bet I could! Being in my line of business means I read a lot. I read everything and anything so I pick up the knowledge. Right?’

  ‘The stuff you collected in your trolley?’

  ‘Good stuff!’

  Honey ignored the look of frustration on Doherty’s face. If frustration were eggs he’d be an omelette.

  ‘Right,’ she said nodding gravely. ‘I can see that you would pick up a whole load of knowledge like that. It must be like having your own personal library.’

  ‘You bet,’ said Rhino rising to the chance of conversing with somebody on his wavelength.

  ‘I bet you I can name all of Henry VIII’s queens and what happened to them.’

  Rhino almost bounced out of bed with excitement. ‘Go on then!’

  ‘Do I get a prize if I get it right?’

  His excitement faltered. ‘What d’ya mean?’

  ‘Well, if I get the answer right, then I deserve a prize. They give prizes on that quiz show you’ve been watching don’t they?’

  He nodded, warily at first then he beamed. ‘Right. I’ll be the quiz master. You answer the question.’

  ‘And the prize?’

  ‘Simple,’ Doherty burst in, suddenly as keen on Honey’s quiz question as Rhino was. ‘If my colleague here gets it right, then you tell us how you acquired that money we found you cuddled up to.’

  Rhino squinted at the television. Then he eyed the remote control that Doherty still gripped in his hand.

  ‘Can I have the remote control back after?’

  ‘If I answer my question, you tell me where you got the money. I will then ask you a question …’

  His eyes were bright with enthusiasm. ‘Not just one question. Ten. Ask me ten like they do on the TV.’

  ‘Five,’ said Honey, already racking her brains for two decent questions.

  Rhino narrowed his eyes and thought about it. ‘OK. Five, but if you get your question wrong then I get the remote control back anyway.’

  Honey folded her arms and nodded. ‘And I will not need to ask you any questions.’

  ‘You have to ask me quiz questions! I want to be asked quiz questions first!’

  There was no getting away from it. In a matter of minutes, Rhino had become an armchair quiz addict.

  ‘OK. Whatever happens I’ll ask you five questions.’

  His nodding sent his tangled hair bouncing.

  ‘OK. OK. Your time starts now. Name the six wives of Henry VIII. Full names, not just Queenie this or Queenie that.’

  She rattled them off. ‘Catherine of Aragon, Anne Boleyn, Jane Seymour, Anne of Cleves, Catherine Howard, Catherine Parr.’

  Rhino looked impressed. ‘Brilliant!’

  ‘There,’ said Honey feeling mighty proud of herself.

  ‘Your turn,’ said Doherty addressing Rhino. ‘Where did you get the money?’

  Rhino ignored him. ‘OK. Now tell me which ones were beheaded, divorced, or survived,’ he said addressing Honey.

  Biting her bottom lip helped her focus. She vaguely recalled a little rhyme Lindsey had taught her.

  ‘Catherine of Aragon was set aside and died in her bed, Anne Boleyn lost her head, Jane Seymour died after giving birth to a son, Anne of Cleves was divorced, her marriage done. Catherine Howard lost her head too so they say, and Catherine Parr lived to marry another day. Howzat?’

  She and Rhino did high fives. Doherty was all serious scrutiny and purposeful intent.

  ‘So where did you get the money?’

  Rhino kind of bubbled his cheeks like a kid that’s about to blow bubbles – or a raspberry!

  ‘The man ain’t got no idea of my trade. No idea of the responsibility.’

  Doherty prowled from the window he’d been looking out of and hovered over Rhino.

  ‘Where did you get the money?’

/>   ‘Can we guess?’ Honey asked suddenly. ‘Would you play the game if we did things that way?’

  Rhino closed one eye and squinting scrutinised her with the other.

  ‘Only if I still get my five questions.’

  Doherty threw back his head and turned back to the window in disgust.

  ‘Right,’ said Honey. ‘First starter for ten.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Ten points. Did you steal the money?’

  Rhino shook his head.

  ‘Did you find the money?’

  Again he shook his head.

  Honey frowned. She was thinking of the evidence that someone had been staying in one of those attic rooms at the guest house. She saw Doherty looking at her and knew he was thinking of getting the DNA evidence rechecked.

  ‘Did somebody give you the money?’

  ‘Ugh ugh,’ he said wagging his finger. ‘Do you think somebody gave me the money?’

  Honey thought about it. ‘Yes. Yes I do. You were staying with the Crooks, weren’t you?’

  ‘That’s not proper guessing.’

  She glanced briefly at Doherty who was looking fierce.

  Rhino looked too. ‘Not very patient, your boyfriend, is he?’

  ‘He has issues.’

  Doherty eyed her menacingly over folded arms.

  ‘What did you give them that was valuable, Rhino? You gave them something useful?’

  ‘I told them I had it. Showed pictures it did. Shiny pictures.’

  Honey frowned. ‘A catalogue?’

  ‘They always throw them out in bags at the side of the rubbish bins. Lovely stuff some of it. Glossy pictures of old furniture.’

  ‘Bonhams?’

  It was only a guess, but the moment Honey saw Rhino’s expression, she knew she’d hit the nail on the head.

  His face froze.

  Doherty took the opportunity to play at being bad cop.

  ‘Enough of your bloody games, Rhino. Edna was murdered. You know that don’t you? Did you murder her, Rhino? Did you murder her and take the money from her?’

  ‘No! No! I didn’t do it! I didn’t do it! I was given the money. I gave him the shiny book and the tool. It was with the book. I found it outside Bonhams. Mr Crook gave me money for other bits of paper I’d found. But the book was special. And the key. The tool was special too. He told me it was of interest. That’s what he said. Of interest.’

  The big man pulled the bedding up to his chin like a shield against more questions – or something else.

  Doherty rounded on him, leaning over and placing his hands on either side of Rhino’s head.

  ‘What tool? What was the tool for?’

  Rhino shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘So what do you know? Do you know the two men who died when the caravan exploded?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Did you kill them too?’

  Rhino’s scraggy hair flew around like ropes in a gale when he shook his head.

  ‘I didn’t kill them. The baked beans killed them.’

  Honey saw Doherty’s face crumple and knew he was on the verge of laughing. She couldn’t stop smirking herself. The vision of a tin of baked beans being responsible for the death of two men was pretty funny. OK, perhaps it wouldn’t have been so funny if they had been nice people, But they’d been thugs. If you hand out the aggro, at some stage it’s bound to come bouncing back at you.

  ‘So who were they?’

  ‘The same dudes who killed Edna.’

  Doherty straightened, his expression ripe with thoughts and one question in particular.

  ‘How do you know they killed Edna?’

  The piggy eyes stayed fixed on Doherty and were full of fear.

  ‘You can’t let them get me.’

  ‘How do you know they killed Edna.’

  Rhino swallowed. ‘Because I saw them.’

  Doherty was one hundred per cent attention. ‘You saw them kill her?’

  ‘Not exactly. I saw them following the old fool. She was yakking and yakking like she always did and didn’t see them. They didn’t see me. I was hiding. There’s a row of rubbish skips behind the big hotel …’

  ‘Which hotel?’ asked Doherty.

  ‘The one near the traffic lights.’

  ‘Rhino, there are hundreds of traffic lights in Bath. Which ones are we talking about?’

  ‘The ones where the traffic goes across and up Lansdown Hill.’

  Honey and Doherty looked at each other.

  ‘You mean the bins at the back of the Travelodge?’

  He nodded. ‘It was only temporary, but I knew the bins had been emptied so I thought it would be warm for the night. I’d handed my trolley over to Edna because I’d come by the money. I heard them ask her where I was and heard her say she would take them to me. Of course she didn’t take them to me at all; she took them away from me, gave me chance to get away. So I did. I went to stay in the country for a while.’

  He was referring to the boot.

  ‘What about the money?’ asked Doherty.

  Rhino pointed at Honey. ‘Guess.’

  Doherty swore. ‘This is getting ridiculous. Mr and Mrs Crook were murdered for that money and the same men murdered Edna!’

  Honey saw fear flash through the street dweller’s eyes. Doherty hadn’t necessarily hit the button but he’d said enough to scare the man. She took a wild shot on what that was.

  ‘You were living in the attic for a while at Moss End Guest House. That’s when they gave you the money.’

  Now Rhino looked really scared. ‘I didn’t kill them. Honest I didn’t.’

  Honey came round, pushed Doherty to one side and sat on the side of the bed. She covered Rhino’s huge paw – or should that be hoof – with hers.

  ‘Did you see them being killed?’

  The big man’s chocolate-coloured skin broke into a shiny sweat. ‘They said they were going away and I could stay at the place until they left. We’d done good business. Honest business,’ he said, nodding his head as though wishing they would agree. ‘They had an interest in recycling. That’s what they said. Just like me. They called me the King of Recycling,’ he added proudly, ‘but said it would be best if I stayed out of sight for a while. I could watch the TV while they were away. They didn’t mind.’

  Honey wondered whether it was worth explaining to Rhino that recycling as far as Boris and Doris were concerned was about gleaning information from utility bills and till receipts and cheating people out of their money and even their identities. She figured he wouldn’t understand. It seemed Doherty thought the same.

  What she couldn’t understand was why they had invited him to stay in the attic.

  ‘No more quizzes! No more playing games, Rhino. You saw who killed Mr and Mrs Crook. Who were they? How many were there?’

  ‘I heard them coming up the stairs – Boris and Doris. They gave me the bag and some air tickets and told me to take it down the back stairs and meet them at the train station. So I did.’

  ‘But you didn’t see the killers?’

  Rhino shook his head. ‘No. I saw Boris and his missus come shooting down from the roof and into those pots. So I took off. Such a shame. Nice people. Fancy ending up in those pots. They reckoned them pots was the best thing about the place. Fancy ending up dead in them.’

  Honey was thinking deeply. The giant urns; it all came back to them. Even Rhino kept mentioning them. And then it came to her.

  ‘What were the photos of, Rhino?’

  He blinked at her. ‘The pots.’

  ‘And the tool?’

  ‘They were outside Bonhams for the auction. Some time back it was. They were too big to go inside. Nice and comfy. And there was a tool – sort of tool. It looked like this. I found it inside one of the pots.’

  He hooked two fingers.

  ‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’

  Doherty wasn’t getting it; but Honey was.

  ‘It’s a key. Two pron
gs that fix into a turning plate. They use them to undo the fuel and water tanks on boats. It keeps the tanks firmly sealed and watertight.’

  ‘I kept it to hang excess merchandise from my cart. Kept it for ages I did. And the ticket. There was a ticket as well.’ He shook his head. ‘Lovely ticket it was. Just like on a car …’

  Rhino was getting a faraway look. Doherty shook him back to reality, instructing him instructions that he was to stay where he was until they could take a statement.

  ‘We can assume that the whereabouts of the money was beaten out of the victims before they were killed and shoved out of the window,’ said Doherty as they drove back into Bath.

  ‘Why bother to slide them out of the windows and straight into those pots? They could have left them where they were. They might not have been discovered for days.’

  ‘That’s very profound thinking, Mrs Driver.’

  She threw him a haughty scowl. ‘Quit calling me Mrs Driver.’

  ‘OK. I suppose it’s time.’

  ‘Time for what?’

  She saw his wide grin picked out by passing headlights. The day was closing in; winter gloom settling around and not lifting except in streets of brightly lit shops.

  ‘Making up.’

  ‘Dinner? Champagne? Romantic music?’

  ‘My inclination is a night in with a Chinese takeaway. I can provide the music and no problem with the wine. I’ve got an Asti Spumante in the fridge.’

  ‘And for dessert?’

  His smile said it all. ‘Honey. We’ll forego the chocolate fudge or lemon meringue pie. We can take a bite out of each other.’

  The empty wine bottle and the remains of the Chinese meal were sitting on the coffee table. Once the burning passion had been well and truly satisfied, their conversation returned to the two million pounds, the three murders, and the significance of the ridiculously large Greek-style urns sitting outside the door of the guest house in Northend.

  ‘It could be the money Boris Crook embezzled from the company – what was the other partner’s name?’

  ‘Belper,’ said Doherty. ‘But according to him it was a lesser figure than that and Boris had promised to repay it very shortly. Suddenly he was in funds.’

  ‘Then he found the money. Boris I mean. And it still goes back to those urns. If what Rhino describes is a key then there has to be a corresponding keyhole – or rather two for the prongs to go in. It wouldn’t be that noticeable, flush to the decoration on one of those ghastly ornaments.’