by P. F. Ford
When we had talked before, she had only told me what she wanted me to hear. Now we had moved to another level and she was sharing stuff she had probably shared with very few other people. She had been through some serious horrors in her life. It was no wonder she had a problem trusting men.
All in all, it had been a day of highs and lows, but right now I think we were both pretty relaxed and happy to be sharing the late afternoon. We were back in my flat with a huge pile of bags to sort through. They were spread all over the floor in the lounge and we were just about to start sorting things and putting them where they belonged.
And then, of course, the doorbell rang. I looked at Sophia, kneeling on the floor surrounded by bags.
‘Go on, answer it,’ she said. ‘I’ll carry on here.’
It was Dave Slater. I must have looked surprised to see him.
‘I did say I would call back today,’ he said.
‘No, it’s okay. I’ve been out. I’d almost forgotten you were coming. Come on in.’
I stepped back to let him in. ‘Come through,’ I said, leading him into the lounge.
Sophia looked up suspiciously as Slater entered the room. She obviously didn’t think he should be here again.
‘It’s okay,’ I reassured her. ‘This is Dave. He’s one of the good guys.’
Slater looked uncomfortable under the fierce glare from Sophia.
‘This is Sophia.’
‘Err, hi.’ He couldn’t have looked more uncomfortable.
‘Hi,’ she said coldly, then indicated the bags. ‘We’ve just been shopping to try and replace all the damage from the other night.’
Slater looked at me helplessly. ‘Maybe we should talk somewhere else.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘We can talk in front of Sophia. It’s okay, she’s on my side.’
It felt good saying that. She gave me a little smile.
‘Now we have some mugs,’ she said, making her point once again, ‘I can make us all a cup of tea.’
She went off to the kitchen.
‘You wouldn’t want her as an enemy,’ Slater said to me after Sophia had gone.
‘That’s why I’m glad she’s on my side. And what do you expect after what she saw the other night?’
‘Okay. Fair enough, I suppose,’ he reluctantly agreed.
‘Sit down, mate,’ I said. ‘You’re making the place look untidy.’
We got settled. ‘Right,’ I said. ‘Where do you want to start.’
‘Before you do start,’ said Slater, ‘I’ve got to tell you, we’ve had a bit of luck. It’s changed everything, and it’s working in our favour.’
Sophia came back in, carrying a tray with three mugs of tea, which she shared out before curling up on the settee opposite me.
‘Nash is out of the picture!’ announced Slater.
‘How come?’
‘Apparently there’s been some sort of complaint about him.’
‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ I said. ‘I thought about doing that myself.’
‘No. I don’t mean a local complaint. This must be a real big deal. This has come from somewhere up high. When the assistant chief constable arrives in person to deliver a bollocking, it means some serious shit has hit the fan. Nash has been “suspended pending an enquiry”. It means I haven’t got to keep out of his way. I can take whatever you’ve got and we can run with it.’
Sophia had suddenly become very interested in an old magazine that was on the coffee table next to her.
‘It’s a bit of a coincidence, isn’t it?’ I said.
‘Coincidence? It’s like Christmas has come early!’ Slater was grinning from ear to ear.
‘It makes you wonder who dropped him in it,’ I said.
I was thinking hard. Surely Nugent couldn’t have done this. Did he have enough clout to reach that high? I thought it unlikely, and anyway, I doubted he would risk getting caught in any fallout. In fact, he was probably none too happy to see Nash in a position where he might start shouting his mouth off to save his own arse.
So who could it have been? Sophia was keeping very quiet, seemingly deeply involved in her magazine. You’d have thought she would have been pleased to hear Nash was in the shit after the other night. She’d had enough to say at the time.
A little bell started ringing in my head. Hadn’t she said something on Sunday morning about still having contacts?
I looked hard at her. She returned my gaze but quickly returned her focus to the magazine. I continued to stare at her, and then, finally, a tiny smile broke out on her face. She really was something else. Slater was right. You wouldn’t want her as an enemy.
‘You alright?’ asked Slater.
I realised I hadn’t spoken for a couple of minutes. ‘Yeah. I’m just fine,’ I said, looking at Sophia again. This time, she returned my smile.
‘Right then,’ said Slater, rubbing his hands together. ‘What have you got?’
And so I told him everything we knew about the unsolved case of Simon Younger, who had just vanished without trace thirty years ago.
It was some time later when Slater left. He was quite confident that with the information from Miss Goodie and Allison Beatty, they would be able to put enough pressure on Tommy Nash to find out what had really happened to Simon, and also where Brian Mallory had run off to.
‘I had better go too,’ said Sophia.
I had to hide my disappointment. ‘Okay. No problem. I can’t thank you enough for all your help with the shopping.’
‘It was fun.’ She smiled. ‘I’ve had a lovely day.’
‘As for dealing with Nash, well, I don’t know how you managed that.’
‘I just called in a favour,’ she said mysteriously. ‘There’s no point in having contacts if you can’t use them now and then.’
‘I’m not going to ask,’ I said, ‘but you must have some seriously powerful contacts.’
‘Now that would be telling.’ She was at the door now, ready to go.
I stood by the door. Should I just open it and let her go? Should I kiss her goodbye? Oh, hell. I never was any good at this, and I knew I needed to be careful. I thought it best to play it safe and opened the door.
‘Thanks again,’ I said.
We were toe to toe in the narrow hallway.
‘It was a pleasure,’ she said.
‘Maybe we could do it again sometime.’
‘Maybe,’ she said, smiling again. ‘We’ll see.’
There was another moment of silent awkwardness, and then suddenly she was up on her toes to give me the softest and lightest of kisses on the lips. And then she was gone.
I closed the door and leaned back against it, closing my eyes and reliving that moment. If I had dropped dead right then, I would have died a very happy man. But my lounge floor was still covered with shopping bags, so there was no time for that.
Chapter Seventeen
It was a week later. As promised, Dave Slater had formally interviewed Miss Goodie and Allison Beatty, and Tommy Nash was now in custody. He had finally admitted that he had covered up for his brother, but so far he had been unwilling to say any more.
Where Simon Younger’s body was, or where Brian Mallory had gone, he just wasn’t saying. It was frustrating to get so near yet still be so far away from a conclusion, but Slater was confident they would get there in the end.
I hadn’t set eyes on Sophia or Jelena, and I wondered if Sophia was avoiding me. I hadn’t even been in the tea shop for a week. Of course, it never occurred to me that she might think I was avoiding her.
They had told me that Tuesday morning was quiet – wasn’t that why Sophia had been able to come shopping with me? So, this morning I had put all my fears aside and plucked up the courage to go inside. Only, for whatever reason, the place was packed.
It seemed both Jelena and Sophia were busy in the kitchen. I sat at the only empty table in the room and stared out of the window. This hadn’t quite been my plan.
Someone had left a newspape
r on the seat next to mine. I opened it and read absently just for something to do. Maybe things would quieten down in a while and I’d get a chance to see Sophia.
I’d been minding my own business in this way for about ten minutes when I became aware someone was stood by the empty chair next to mine. I looked up. A little old man nodded a greeting.
‘Mind if I sit here?’
‘No, of course not, sit down, please.’
I moved my cup and plate aside to make room for him on the table.
He sank down into his seat with a big sigh. He had what appeared to be a bag full of vegetables which he tucked under his seat.
I pointed to the bag. ‘Been shopping?’
He looked down. ‘Oh, no. I’m waiting for the lady who runs the shop. I’m hoping she’s going to buy from me.’
‘You’re selling then?’
‘I’m from the local allotment association,’ he explained. ‘If we can flog some of our stuff to local shops and restaurants, we can make a few quid. It makes the pension go a bit further.’
‘Ah! I see. That’s a good idea. Have you had the allotment long?’
‘Longer than I can remember.’ He laughed. ‘I used to manage the place, but I’m too old for that now. Still grow some good stuff, though. Keeps me fit, you know? I’m eighty-two. You wouldn’t believe it, would you?’
I had to admit he did look pretty good for his age. Then I had a thought. ‘I was talking to someone the other week who used to have an allotment a few years ago. If you used to manage the place, maybe you remember him?’
‘Oh yes. What’s his name?’
‘Nash. Tommy Nash. He used to be a detective inspector with the police.’
‘I know him,’ said the old man. ‘He was a bit miserable. We all used to muck in up there, but he always kept himself to himself.’
He thought about it for a minute, then he went on. ‘That must have been about thirty years ago.’
‘That sounds about right,’ I said. ‘Your memory’s pretty good.’
He pulled a face as he searched for more memories. ‘When he first got his allotment, he couldn’t use it. There was some big case on and he didn’t have any spare time.’
‘There was a young boy went missing,’ I prompted.
‘That’s right. I remember now. And then he started coming down at night. I thought it was a bit odd, but he told me he couldn’t sleep at night thinking about that boy. He said working on the allotment helped him to deal with it. Must have been stress, I suppose.’
‘And he used to work on the allotment at night?’ I asked, trying to encourage more information from him. This was getting interesting.
‘That’s right, yes. He worked like a Trojan, too. He double-dug the whole blooming plot. He used to dig into the night. By morning, he’d be gone, but you could see how much he’d done. I told him he didn’t need to dig so deep but he said he was going really deep to improve the drainage. And he must have added sacks and sacks of manure; he always seemed to arrive with loads of stuff in the boot of his car.’
He smiled at the memory. ‘It takes all sorts I s’pose. I tell you what, though,’ he finished, giving me an approving look. ‘It all paid off. He grew some cracking vegetables.’
I was nearly bursting. ‘If I went up there, would I be able to find his plot?’
‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘My grandson’s got it now. He’s nearly always there. Just ask for Geoff Wilkins. He’s still growing great vegetables.’
I looked at my watch. ‘I’ve got to go now. It’s been nice talking to you. I’ll definitely pop up and see Geoff. Maybe I’ll see you up there too.’
‘It’s nice to sit with someone who wants to talk these days,’ said the old man, smiling. ‘Thank you for taking the time to listen.’
‘My pleasure,’ I said, shaking his hand.
Then I jumped up and almost ran from the shop, only dimly aware of the door to the kitchen opening as I rushed out the door.
It was only a ten-minute drive to the allotments. It wasn’t a very big site, but it was big enough for about thirty or forty good-sized plots. Geoff Wilkins was pointed out to me by the first person I asked. He was a big, round man with huge hands and a personality to match. He was only too happy to show me around his plot. He was particularly proud of his sweetcorn.
‘Grows like mad just there,’ he said, pointing out the area in question.
‘I tried celery and marrows there, but they were terrible. I don’t know what sort of fertilizer the other old guy put under it, but it suits the sweetcorn just right. It’s weird because it grows best on chalk but there’s no chalk here. It’s amazing. I’ve never been able to grow it like this before.’
I was no expert on sweetcorn, but it didn’t take an expert to see how well it was growing.
‘You say it grows best on chalk,’ I said. ‘That’s calcium, isn’t it?’
‘Calcium carbonate to be exact, yeah,’ Geoff agreed. ‘Are you after a plot up here, then?’
‘Err, thinking about it, yes,’ I lied. ‘I saw your grandfather in town and was chatting with him. He said to come up and see you.’
‘You’ll need to get your name on the list,’ he said. ‘But you’ll probably have to wait a while.’
‘Well, I’m just thinking about it right now,’ I said. ‘Is it ok if I have a look around?’
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Have a chat with some of the others if you like.’
I left him to it and found myself a quiet corner where I could use my mobile phone without being overheard. I fished the card out of my pocket with the unfamiliar number written on it and tapped it in.
There were just two rings and then a voice said, ‘Slater.’
‘Get your arse up to the allotments. I’ve got something here that might interest you.’
‘What? What have you got?’
‘Ha! Just you wait and see,’ I said. ‘Oh, and bring a spade.’
‘Do what? A spade?’
I hung up on him. He’d find out soon enough, but I had a feeling Geoff Wilkins wouldn’t be too happy by the time we’d finished.
The excavation of Geoff Wilkins’ allotment revealed not one, but two, bodies. The first was that of a small boy, the other was that of an adult male. Forensic examination subsequently revealed the bodies to be those of Simon Younger and Brian Mallory.
DB had been right – they had both ceased to exist.
Tommy Nash was charged with the murder of Brian Mallory. His story that Mallory had murdered Simon Younger and that he, Tommy, had only hidden the body was accepted.
Chapter Eighteen
It had taken a long time, but eventually, the day arrived. The car swept quietly up to the church and the bearers carried the little white coffin into the church, followed by Daphne holding my arm on one side and Positive Pete’s on the other.
The church was packed, in part due to a story which had appeared in the local newspaper telling how the mystery of Simon Younger’s death had been solved and announcing when the funeral would be held. The story carried DB’s byline. He might have retired years ago, but he still had a way with words, and, of course, he had been an integral part of the investigation.
As we walked slowly to our seats, I saw some familiar faces. Miss Goodie was here. Dave Slater was just one of half a dozen police officers who had worked on clearing up the case. Even Allison Beatty was here, looking better than she probably had in years – counselling could do that for you.
I had another quick look around before I sat down. I could see Sophia and Jelena several rows back. I hadn’t really seen them to speak to recently and I felt a bit guilty about that. Or maybe I was feeling guilty about that fact that it would be easy to talk to them if I really wanted to, but I hadn’t made the effort.
I resolved I would try to talk to both of them later, especially Sophia. But I really didn’t know where to start. Sometimes, I really envied those people who always seem to know what to say and when to say it.
I had expected
DB to be here but I couldn’t spot him anywhere. He had said he would be here. This was very strange – it wasn’t like him at all.
The service was just beautiful. Daphne had been planning this for thirty years. I was in bits by the end, but then I’m totally useless with these things. Pete wasn’t a lot better. Daphne was the one who seemed to cope best of all. That is, until the tiny coffin was lowered into the ground.
She gripped Pete’s arm so hard I thought she was going to break it, and then when she finally gave way to tears, it was Pete who took her in his arms and held her until she composed herself. From that moment, she held onto his arm with two hands. For the rest of the day he was to be her rock. And he was awesome in the role.
I still hadn’t seen DB anywhere, and I was beginning to worry. Where had he got to? Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. Making sure Pete was okay looking after Daphne, I made my way back across town to his house.
Even before I got to the front door, I knew something was wrong. I was used to the sound of Betty the basset howling a joyful greeting, but the sound I could hear wasn’t to welcome anyone. This was no happy howl at all; it was a low, sorrowful wail – a sound I had never heard from Betty before.
I rang the doorbell and knocked on the door, but there was no sound of anyone shuffling to the door. Even Betty seemed to have chosen to ignore my arrival and continued her mournful howling. Falling to my knees, I peered through the letterbox but it gave no clue as to what was going on inside.
I ran down the side of the house, through the gate, and round to the back of the house. As I passed the kitchen window, I stopped to look inside. I could just see the table with the chairs neatly arranged around it. All except the one, which was untidily out of place. Paperwork was strewn across the table. Dry Biro was a neat person – this wasn’t right.
The howling was louder now. Betty was obviously close to the kitchen door. I couldn’t quite see enough to be clear, but was that a foot? I rushed to the back door, trying to open it on the run, but it was locked. I thought it unusual he should have the door locked when he was at home, but there were more important things to worry about.
