Brought to Book

by Anthea Fraser

  ‘No problem; we’ll be together every night for a while.’

  ‘Ah – my change of lodging. I’d forgotten.’

  ‘I hadn’t,’ he said.

  The next morning was bright and sunny and they were able to make a reasonably early start. Spindlebury lay some sixty miles due north of Marsborough, in an agricultural area of moors, uplands and smallholdings. Neither of them had been there before, though they’d frequently skirted it en route for towns in the north of the county and beyond.

  After an hour or so, the road began to climb and the scenery on either side of them became more wooded. Then it levelled out again, the trees fell away, and they drove for miles between fields of crops with the occasional farmhouse at the side of the road.

  ‘Why would he want to bury himself out here?’ Max grumbled, swerving to avoid an errant sheep. ‘It’s not as though Cricklehurst is exactly the heart of the metropolis.’

  ‘I suppose they’d a lot of friends there to distract him.’ Rona glanced at Meriel’s directions. ‘The village should be only a few miles farther on. Then we have to turn left and follow what she refers to as the moorland road.’

  ‘I suggest we stop there for a coffee,’ Max said.

  ‘Good idea, and I can start asking questions.’

  It was just after eleven when they drew up in a small cobbled square in the centre of the village. Opposite them was the post office outside which Keith Bromsgrove had seen Harvey on the last night of his life. The petrol station where he’d stopped to fill up was to their right, and from behind it came the sound of children playing. No doubt break at the village primary, Rona thought. An array of shops filled the other sides of the square – a chemist, an ironmonger’s, a mini-market, a fish and chip shop.

  Max, who had cast a swift, disparaging eye over them, said disgustedly, ‘Not a café in sight.’

  ‘Perhaps the pub serves coffee,’ Rona suggested.

  He turned to study the small stone building on the corner. Its swinging sign proclaimed it to be the White Horse. ‘Is this the one Harvey patronized?’

  ‘Not his regular; that’s nearer the cottage.’

  ‘Well, I suppose it’s worth a try.’

  The interior of the pub was cool and dim and smelt faintly of beer. A girl was seated behind the bar, filing her nails. Max approached her at his most charming.

  ‘Any chance of a couple of coffees for two weary travellers?’

  She looked at him blankly, then, as his smile took effect, her face softened.

  ‘Strictly speaking, we’re not open, but I suppose coffee would be all right.’

  ‘You’re an angel,’ Max told her, and, taking Rona’s arm, led her to a table by a window, whose coloured pebble-glass threw red, green and blue patterns on the pock-marked surface.

  It was an older woman, who, a few minutes later, brought their coffees. She was heavily built, with a round, small-featured face, and she wore an overall.

  ‘Just passing through?’ she enquired pleasantly, as she put the cups down. Rona seized the opening.

  ‘Actually, we’re spending the night at Theo Harvey’s cottage. Did you know him?’

  ‘The writer gentleman who died? Only to nod to, like.’

  ‘But he did come in here?’

  ‘Sometimes he did, on Fridays, when he was down buying his groceries. Other times, he’d call in at the chippie. That was in the early days, mind. After he was ill, he didn’t come at all, nor when he got better, neither. Doris at the Mini-Mart used to send his order up once a week.’

  ‘Yet he was here the night he died,’ Max remarked.

  The woman looked startled. ‘Here?’

  ‘In the village.’

  ‘Well, he never came to the bar, that I do know.’

  Yet according to the post-mortem, he’d been drinking heavily. Rona said artlessly, ‘He was having an argument with a man called Myers.’

  The landlady’s face cleared. ‘Ah, now Mr Myers I do know. Leastways, he sometimes spent the night here.’

  ‘You have rooms?’ Max was surprised. The place didn’t look big enough.

  ‘A couple, that we let on a B&B basis.’

  ‘How often did he stay?’

  The woman frowned, her eyes suddenly suspicious. ‘If you don’t mind me asking, sir, why all these questions?’

  Rona said quickly, ‘I’m sorry, we should have explained: I’m writing Theo Harvey’s life story, and I’m trying to find out as much as I can about him.’

  ‘But Mr Myers—?’

  ‘Used to meet him up the road. I think that was the reason for his coming here.’

  After a minute she nodded. ‘It said in the paper the police questioned him when the other gentleman died. Came as a surprise, I can tell you, them knowing each other. I mean, you’d never have thought it.’

  Rona leaned forward. ‘Why was that?’

  ‘Well, Mr – Harvey, was it? – was a gentleman, and . . .’ Her eyes fell. ‘I shouldn’t be talking about our guests like this.’

  ‘Your impressions of him could be very important.’

  Her reluctance easily overcome, she went on confidingly, ‘Well, he looked kind of scruffy. We were in two minds about putting him up, to tell the truth, but he always paid up and it was only ever for one night.’

  Rona and Max waited expectantly, and after a moment she added, ‘He was – shifty, if you know what I mean. Wouldn’t ever look you straight in the eye. Dick thought it was drugs . . .’

  She broke off, her hand flying to her mouth, eyes wide. ‘I shouldn’t have said that,’ she whispered. ‘Dick would slay me.’

  ‘What you tell us is confidential,’ Rona assured her. ‘Your name won’t be mentioned.’

  ‘Do you know where he lives?’ Max enquired.

  ‘Stokely, I think, but it’ll be in the register.’

  ‘May!’

  The woman spun round guiltily. A heavily built man was standing at the bar staring disapprovingly across at them.

  ‘Just coming,’ she said hurriedly. Then, to Max and Rona, ‘That’ll be two-fifty, please.’

  The bulk of her body shielded Max from the man’s gaze and he put a five-pound note in her hand. ‘That’ll be fine,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Thank you, sir. Enjoy your coffee.’ She hurried back across the room, and as she approached the bar, the man turned and disappeared through a doorway.

  ‘Well, that’s a start,’ Max commented.

  ‘I hope she won’t get into trouble for talking to us.’

  He shrugged. ‘This coffee’s not up to much.’

  ‘We can have some when we get to the cottage. First, though, I want a word with Doris at the Mini-Mart.’

  But Doris wasn’t much help. Yes, Mr Harvey had used to do his own shopping – such a nice gentleman. Then he was taken ill, and she sent his weekly order up to him at Mile End Cottage. And he must have found it more convenient, because the arrangement continued after he was well again.

  ‘Mile End?’ Max queried. ‘I thought it was farther away than that?’

  ‘Depends where you’re coming from,’ Doris replied with a twinkle. ‘But it would be a country mile, wouldn’t it, sir, and they’re always longer.’

  ‘I wonder if there’s any hope of getting Myers’s address from the formidable Dick,’ Rona mused as they returned to the car.

  ‘If he’s a druggie, I should steer well clear of him.’

  ‘I wouldn’t learn much if I took that attitude,’ she retorted. ‘Anyway, he intrigues me; as May said, it’s odd that a man like that should associate with Theo. I wonder what the police made of it.’

  With luck, he’d find out, Max thought, but volunteered nothing.

  ‘The most likely thing would be blackmail,’ Rona added, ‘but they can’t have found any evidence of it, or they’d have arrested him.’

  They drove out of the village with its narrow streets and small, stone-built houses, and took the road indicated by Meriel Harvey, which rose steeply and soon de
generated into little more than a track. On either side, rough grassland spread away, broken here and there by clumps of gorse and small, stunted trees. There were sheep in the distance, and a couple of horses grazing. Here, the wind was stronger, buffeting against the sides of the car.

  ‘It must be very bleak in winter,’ Max said. ‘No wonder it was conducive to writing – there can’t have been much else to do.’

  As they rounded a bend, a small house came into view, tucked into a windbreak of straggling trees. Max braked. ‘Is this it?’

  ‘I don’t think so; it should be a mile or so farther on, and there’s no pub in sight.’

  ‘Could be the Bromsgroves’ place, then. It looks a bit primitive, but that’s what some people enjoy on their holidays.’

  The road dipped, rose again, skirted a small copse, and there, ahead of them, was their destination. On their right, set about a hundred yards back from the road, was a more substantial house, built of stone and with a steeply gabled roof. There was a picket fence round it, enclosing a small section of land that looked no different from the surrounding ground cover, and two gates, a small one bearing the name ‘Mile End Cottage’, beyond which a path led to the door, and a double gate opening on to some hardstanding where, presumably, Theo had parked his car. Some quarter of a mile farther on, at the foot of the hill, the roof of the pub he’d frequented was just visible.

  ‘Home sweet home,’ Max said ironically. He got out of the car, opened the double gate with some difficulty, and drove through.

  The cottage was built as a cube, of which the main room, into which the front door opened, comprised half. It was comfortably fitted out with easy chairs, a small dining table, a desk and a television set. A cupboard in the corner revealed telltale rings where bottles had been stored, and there were some shelves, also empty, above it.

  The bedroom was about ten feet square and almost wholly taken up by a large double bed covered with a bare mattress. A wardrobe-cum-dressing table stood in one corner, which must have held such clothes as Theo had with him.

  ‘At least we won’t have to sleep on the floor,’ Rona said.

  The remaining quarter of the cottage was divided between a minute shower room containing lavatory and basin, and a tiny but fully fitted kitchen, that boasted a pocket-sized washing machine and a fridge, standing with its door open. Rona switched it on. ‘It’ll be useful for the milk and booze,’ she said, ‘but remind me to turn it off before we go.’

  Max meanwhile had located the central heating boiler in a wall cupboard, and that, too, hummed into life. They unloaded the car, dumping sleeping bags and pillows on the bed and the provisions on the drop-down table in the kitchen. Gus, who had been exploring the garden, pattered in after them, sniffing at the new surroundings.

  ‘It’s nearly one o’clock,’ Max said. ‘How about a pub lunch down the hill? The Saturday drinkers should be in by now, so you can embark on your initial interrogation. Then, after lunch, we can have that walk we promised ourselves.’

  They set off along the rough road leading down the hill, Gus trotting busily ahead of them.

  ‘We must call him to heel before we get to the bottom,’ Rona warned. ‘There seems to be a main road between us and the pub.’

  The dog had veered off the path and was sniffing amongst the shrubs. After lifting his leg against a bush, he set off again, only to disappear a minute later to the accompaniment of a splash. They watched, smiling, as he scrambled out again, shaking himself vigorously.

  ‘My God!’ Rona said suddenly.

  ‘What? It’s only water.’

  ‘That must be where Theo died; he was found between the cottage and the pub, remember.’

  They left the path and stood looking soberly down at the stream. It was wider than they’d expected, some six or seven feet, and was flowing fairly strongly, its pebbled, muddy bed clearly visible.

  ‘Come on, love,’ Max said quietly after a minute, and, taking her arm, led her back to the road.

  As Rona had noticed, the moorland track ended at a T-junction and a main road separated them from the Plough public house directly opposite. With Gus safely leashed, they had to wait some minutes for a gap in the traffic. There were several cars parked outside the pub, together with a couple of bicycles, and as they went inside a clamour of noise assaulted their ears. They made their way through the crowded public bar to the saloon, where two or three tables were occupied by couples eating lunch, and waited at the bar until the landlord, apologizing for the delay, came to serve them.

  Max ordered drinks and their lunch, then added casually, ‘We’re spending the night at Theo Harvey’s cottage. I believe you knew him?’

  The man raised his head, subjecting Max to a long, hard look. ‘Family, are you?’

  ‘No; Mrs Harvey has lent it to us because my wife is writing his biography.’

  The shrewd brown eyes switched to Rona. ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘He was one of your regulars, I believe?’

  ‘He was.’

  ‘Hey, Jim!’ called a voice from the public bar. ‘What do you have to do to get a drink around here?’

  Max put a hand on the man’s arm as he turned away. ‘I can see you’re busy, but perhaps when you have a moment we could have a word? And in the meantime, is there anyone through there who knew him and might be prepared to talk to us?’

  Jim hesitated. Then he said briefly, ‘I’ll ask.’

  They had barely seated themselves when three burly men appeared in the doorway, a couple more craning over their shoulders.

  The one in front cleared his throat. ‘Someone asking about Theo Harvey?’

  Max put up his hand. The first three came over, collecting an extra chair en route, and joined them at the table. They were locals by the look of them, men in their forties with spreading thighs and wind-burned faces, and their hands, gripping thick glass tankards, were large and work-stained. The other two still hovered in the doorway, listening avidly as Rona launched into the opening questions she’d prepared.

  ‘Rum business, that,’ said the man who’d introduced himself as Al. ‘Right as rain one day, like a hermit crab the next. Despression, they said it was, but there’d been no sign of it coming. Must have lasted a couple of years, and we never got to the bottom of it.’

  ‘Was he particularly friendly with anyone around here?’ Rona asked. ‘Either before his depression, or later?’

  ‘Wouldn’t say friendly, exactly. He’d chat to us all, tell jokes and so on and stand us drinks, but we never met him anywhere else.’

  ‘Did anyone particular drink regularly with him?’

  Al was shaking his head, but one of the others broke in. ‘There was that odd bloke he met now and then. From another planet, by the look of him. Appeared out of the blue, about a year ago.’

  The mysterious Myers, no doubt. ‘Do you know who he was?’

  ‘Called himself Gary,’ said Al, who seemed to have appointed himself spokesman. ‘Beat us what the two of them had in common, and Theo never seemed at ease with him.’ He took a swig from his tankard. ‘I mind the first time he came in; made a beeline for Jim at the bar and asked straight out for Theo Harvey. It was clear Theo didn’t know him from Adam; seemed to think it was one of his fans, like. But this bloke takes him to a corner table and starts talking, and old Theo goes white as a sheet. Then the bloke finishes his drink and off he goes. I was about to check Theo was OK, but he was up and out before I could get to him. We didn’t see him for about ten days, and when he did appear, he’d closed up again. We thought the depression had come back, but this was different.’

  ‘Did you ask him about Gary?’

  ‘At first, casual like, but he clammed up, and since it wasn’t our business, we let it drop.’

  ‘And Gary came back?’

  ‘Yes, three or four times, but he never stayed above a few minutes.’

  Rona thought for a minute. ‘Did you see anything pass between them? Money, an envelope, anything like that?’

/>   All three shook their heads. ‘Not that we spent our time watching ’em, mind,’ Al added.

  ‘Was he here the night Theo died?’

  ‘Yes, early on; looking for Theo, but he didn’t come in that night. We told the police later, and they looked into him pretty thoroughly but they couldn’t pin anything on him. We heard he was miles away when Theo died.’

  ‘And he’s not been back since his death?’

  Al shook his head. ‘Nothing to come for, has he?’

  Max went to the bar and bought another round of drinks. The men in the doorway had drifted away and the three at the table seemed to have nothing further to offer. When the landlord appeared with their lunch order, mutual thanks were exchanged and they returned to the public bar.

  ‘What do you make of that?’ Max asked in a low voice.

  ‘Well, presumably Gary and Myers are one and the same, but it’s odd, isn’t it? If it wasn’t blackmail, what could he have wanted with Theo? And why did he appear out of the blue like that?’

  They idly discussed possibilities while doing full justice to the steak and kidney pie. When their plates had been removed, the landlord came back to their table.

  ‘Were the lads any help?’

  ‘Yes, thank you, they were.’

  ‘I doubt if I can add anything, I spend most of my time stuck behind the bar. Theo never confided in me, like some do when they’ve had a few. I was as shocked as everyone else by his sudden – withdrawal.’

  ‘And you don’t know any more about this Gary character?’ Max asked.

  ‘No, he just came and went without explanation. What I can tell you is that Theo was always on edge when he was here. I’d have liked to bar him, but I’d no cause to.’

  He paused, looking at Rona reflectively. ‘It was me that found Theo, and it’ll stay with me till my dying day. He was a good bloke. Happy to be one of the crowd, with no airs and graces about him. If while you’re writing your book you can find out why he died, there’s a lot of folk round here would thank you for it.’

  He nodded and moved away. There seemed no more to say. Rousing Gus from his sleep, they made their way out into the bright, breezy afternoon.

  Ten