by Bill Kitson
‘Whose idea was the syndicate?’ I asked.
‘I’m not sure. Matthews’, I think. He certainly does all the organization, and presents himself at my house before the start of the season with all the syndicate members’ licences for me to inspect. That’s not strictly necessary, but I don’t discourage it. Whether Matthews or Bartlett is the kingpin I couldn’t say. Of course it could be neither of them. The rest of the guns are all well-heeled, and it might not even be a kingpin, it could be a queenpin, if you get my meaning.’
‘You’re talking about the lady solicitor?’ Eve asked. ‘Mr Calvert was gossiping about her and Bartlett earlier.’
Pickersgill gave a wry smile. ‘The one word I wouldn’t use to describe Ursula Moore is “lady”, but I won’t sully your ears with those I would use. She may be a good-looking woman, and she certainly gives the appearance of being sweet and gentle, but don’t let that fool you. Underneath, she’s as hard as nails and ruthless into the bargain. She specializes in criminal work, so teaming up with that lot is natural, I reckon.’
‘She doesn’t look the type,’ Eve murmured.
‘Appearances are deceptive. I’ve a pal in Leeds CID and when I mentioned her name I thought he was going to have a heart attack. Apparently she represents almost every villain in the West Riding, usually successfully. Last year, Leeds had a big fraud case coming to trial just before Christmas. On paper it looked to be open and shut, but when it came to court, several of the prosecution witnesses suddenly developed amnesia, and the case got thrown out. After that, one of the detectives nicknamed her “Satan’s Little Helper” and it stuck. My pal commented that it was strange, because her partner, Rhodes I think his name is, specializes in civil law, and he’s reckoned to be as straight as a die.’
Something Pickersgill had said rang a bell faintly in my mind, but it would be several days later that I remembered, and had chance to test my theory out. ‘Are the rumours about her and Bartlett correct, do you think?’ Eve asked.
‘I can’t say so for certain, but I think they must be, judging by the evidence. Not that I blame him. As I said, she’s a good-looking woman, and if you’d seen Bartlett’s wife, you’d understand why he would be tempted to stray.’
‘What’s wrong with his wife?’ Eve’s curiosity made me smile. Her obvious fascination with gossip meant she was sure to fit in well around Laithbrigg.
‘It’s difficult to know where to begin, to be honest. I only encountered the woman once. When the syndicate was being formed. Bartlett brought his missus here for a meal and the landlord had to very tactfully suggest that she shouldn’t return.’
‘Why was that?’
‘Her behaviour was atrocious. I’d brought my wife here. It was our anniversary and we were in the dining room at the same time as them. I didn’t see all of it, but my wife witnessed it, and got abused for the privilege.’
‘What happened? What did the woman do?’
‘First of all she ordered two starters and polished them off in record time. Prawn cocktails, as I remember; and she also ate almost a full loaf of bread. Watching her eat almost put me off my food, and that takes some doing. She was more like a pig at trough than a human being. Then she ordered a big T-bone steak, plus two helpings of chips and vegetables and cleaned them up in record time. Any normal person would have been struggling after that, but she then ate two huge slices of Black Forest Gateau to finish with.’
‘Crikey, she must be built like a house side,’ I murmured.
‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you, but she isn’t, quite the opposite. She’s like a stick insect. If she turned sideways you’d miss her. Added to that she has a face like one of Barbara Lewis’s horses.’
‘How on earth does she eat all that and still not put weight on?’ I wondered.
‘Ah, well, now we’re coming to the point. My wife went to the ladies and Mrs Bartlett was in one of the cubicles. She was sticking her fingers down her throat to make herself sick. My wife asked if she was all right, or if she could help in any way, and all she got was a torrent of foul language. She was in tears when she came out, which was when I complained to the landlord. He had a word with Bartlett. Apparently it’s some sort of disease she’s suffering from.’
‘It’s a symptom of a condition they call anorexia nervosa,’ Eve told us. ‘I read an article about it recently. Apparently a lot of the top models suffer from it as a result of continuously dieting.’
‘Anyway, her behaviour goes a long way to explaining why her husband has taken up with Ursula Moore.’
‘What about Armstrong?’ I asked. ‘Zeke gave the impression he has no experience of keeping.’
‘Zeke’s a bit prejudiced, but to be fair he isn’t too far wrong. Armstrong was under-keeper to an estate in Cumbria before he applied for this job. I understand he was fired because he was useless and lazy.’ He paused for a moment, before adding, ‘At least, that was the official reason given, but my sources tell me the true explanation is that he was caught having it off with the wife of one of the guns.’
‘Not the most sensible of career moves. Just out of curiosity, how did you come by that information?’
John laughed; he obviously thought my question was naive. ‘I told you, I make it my business to find out all I can about anyone who comes to live on my patch. It goes with the job.’ He gave me a sly grin, ‘That includes the two of you.’
‘But I don’t live here,’ Eve objected, ‘I’m only visiting.’
‘Really? That’s not how I read the situation.’
‘What makes you think different?’
He looked at Eve for a moment before replying. ‘For one thing, there’s the fact that Adam drove you to catch the London train on Monday and you were back on Saturday along with a mound of luggage that suggested you were moving in. I was at Dene Cottage when Sherpa Bailey here was struggling with the load. Then you came for a romantic dinner here, and just watching the way you look at one another I can tell you’re very much in love. And if that wasn’t sufficient proof, there’s that sizeable rock on the third finger of your left hand. I think it’s so obvious that even a numbskull like Ogden could work it out, given time.’
‘And what did you find out about me?’ Eve demanded.
John smiled. He leaned forward and whispered something in Eve’s ear. She burst out laughing. Maddeningly, neither of them would repeat the remark that had caused her amusement.
After a while, as I suppose was to be expected, the conversation turned to the murder. ‘I’ve been given strict orders not to interfere,’ Pickersgill told us. ‘Ogden said in no uncertain terms that when he wanted my advice he’d ask for it, and unless and until he did, I wasn’t to meddle in things I know nothing about. Technically, I’m off the case. Which means that it has little chance of being solved.’
‘As you’re no longer on Ogden’s Christmas card list, I think I should tell you he came to search Dene Cottage.’
‘Am I surprised? Did he think you were hiding Mrs Lewis under your bed?’
‘Something like that.’ I thought John was going to choke on his beer when I told him of Eve’s assault, both verbal and with the dining room door.
‘It’s a shame it didn’t hit him on the head,’ John said, as he drained his glass. ‘Might have knocked some sense into him.’ He headed for the bar and refilled our glasses.
When he returned, I asked him, ‘Do you remember you told me that Matthews and Armstrong had gone to the station and given statements about witnessing Lewis’s encounter with Barbara and the tramp the previous Sunday?’
‘I do; what of it?’
‘That would be why Ogden searched my cottage, believing Barbara is a suspect.’
‘Aye, you’re probably right.’
‘But how did they know he was dead? It hadn’t been on the news at that point and even when it was, the identity wasn’t revealed. That means someone leaked the information. Either that, or they know far more about Lewis’s murder than they’ve disclosed.’
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br /> ‘I knew Ogden would mess it up. Now you can see why I asked you to help.’ He looked from me to Eve. ‘What do you say? Will you look into it? Strictly off the record, of course.’
I waited for Eve to answer. ‘I don’t know,’ she said after a long pause. ‘Last time anything like this happened, Adam did his best to get us both killed. I don’t want to push my luck.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re safe,’ Pickersgill reassured her.
We returned to Dene Cottage long after closing time; and much later than we’d intended. We were both a little bit tipsy and very amorous. At some point during the night, Eve whispered, ‘I think we should get a puppy.’
‘A puppy? Why on earth do you want a puppy?’
‘It isn’t for me really, although I would like one. I read somewhere that if you get a puppy and bring it up along with the children it is good for both of them.’
‘Hang on, we haven’t got any children.’
Eve put her arms around me, pulling me close. I didn’t object. ‘No, not yet, but the way things are going, it shouldn’t be long.’
‘Do you want children?’
Eve thought for a moment before replying. ‘I never did. I used to watch Harriet’s kids growing, and thought that was nice, but it didn’t awaken any yearning for my own. Now, I can’t think of anything more exciting than having our child growing inside my womb.’
It was then I put my idea of the extension to Dene Cottage to her. ‘Oh, Adam, I’ve been meaning to mention it. I thought exactly the same. It would be ideal. A terrific place to raise a family.’
Anyone watching our antics next day might have had cause to doubt our sanity. To the casual observer, it must have seemed that Eve and I were taking it in turns to march around the garden of Dene Cottage attempting to emulate the exaggerated strides of some foreign army parading for the glorification of their dictator. In fact, what we were doing was trying to calculate how much space we had for the extension we’d agreed on, and to visualize what effect the proposed additional structure would have on the appearance of the building and how it sat in its surroundings. Fortunately, passers-by in that area were a rare event, especially in winter, so we were able to complete the exercise undisturbed.
By late afternoon we had even progressed far enough to have a rough sketch of how the property might look. This was purely down to Eve’s artistic prowess, a talent I was unaware she possessed. Left to me, the drawing would have been a disaster, as I’m unable to draw a straight line without the aid of a ruler. Our preoccupation with our own plans for the future hadn’t caused us to ignore our concerns over Barbara’s prolonged absence, and our disquiet had only been marginally eased when we’d visited the stables again, earlier in the day.
The senior stable lad greeted us with the news. ‘I had a note from the boss. It were stuck through our letterbox sometime during the night.’ He scratched his head, no mean feat for someone wearing a flat cap. ‘She must have sneaked up to the house right quiet, because my dog didn’t make a sound and he usually kicks up a rumpus at the slightest noise. Anyroad, she said she’d be back here tomorrow.’
‘Do you have the note with you? Can I see it?’ Eve asked.
He fumbled in several pockets before producing a crumpled piece of paper. The jagged edge suggested the page had been torn from a book. Eve examined the note carefully before passing it to me. ‘That’s definitely Barbara’s handwriting. There’s no mistaking it. See that swirl round the letter B. She’s been doing that ever since third form, despite the teacher telling her off about it.’
‘At least we know she’s all right.’
As I spoke, I turned the paper over. One glance at the back of the page caused alarm bells to ring in my mind, but I decided against voicing them. I didn’t think it right in front of Barbara’s employee, for one thing, and besides, I didn’t want to worry Eve. I was happy to concede that Barbara had written the note of her own free will, but I couldn’t for the life of me work out what she was playing at. Another concern that crossed my mind was that, although I had a shrewd idea who had provided the paper for her to write on, where was she? I opted to remain silent, in the hope that when Barbara returned the next day she would provide the answers to at least some of those questions. However, that hope went unsatisfied for a while longer.
Chapter Ten
Next morning we were at Linden House shortly after dawn. We walked down the yard in time to see Barbara’s stable lads walking three of her horses along the track that bordered Rowandale Forest. I pointed towards them. ‘Look, they’re taking the short cut, despite what Armstrong warned about going that way.’
Before Eve had chance to reply, our attention was distracted by a sound we hadn’t heard there before. It was someone whistling. At that moment Barbara Lewis emerged from one of the loose boxes. She stopped her recital and greeted us. ‘Hello, you two lovebirds. Isn’t it a lovely morning?’
We stared at her in surprise. Although we hadn’t expected her to be grieving over her husband’s death, her cheerful mood seemed out of place, given her present difficulties. I wondered what must have happened to enable her to forget the threat to her home and her livelihood. And was she sending the horses to the gallops via the shortcut as a last act of defiance? At the same time, I realized that she might not even be aware that Lewis had been murdered, or even that he was dead.
Eve must have reached the same conclusion, judging by her opening question. ‘Babs, are you all right? Have you heard about Charles being killed? Where have you been for the past week?’
‘Never better, Eve, never better. Yes, I knew about Charles. He’s no loss, certainly not to me. He might be missed by that tart he’s been shagging, but she’ll soon get over it. As to where I’ve been, I’ve been sorting out my problems; that’s all you need to know.’
I decided a change of subject was called for. ‘Why are you sending the horses that way? Aren’t you worried about what Armstrong said?’
‘I don’t give a monkey’s toss what Armstrong says or does.’
If it hadn’t been so early in the day I might have suspected that Barbara had been drinking, but her brightness and clear, alert tone of voice suggested she was stone cold sober.
‘Why don’t we go inside and have a coffee; then you can tell us what you’ve been up to,’ Eve suggested.
‘Coffee’s a wonderful idea, Eve, but don’t think you’re going to wheedle information out of me that way. My lips are sealed.’
Although Eve tried every method of persuasion she could think of, Barbara refused to divulge even the most minute detail of where she’d been, or why, merely smiling benignly at us both throughout. I met with more success, even though I didn’t realize it at the time, when I changed the subject and asked her about the Rowandale Hall estate and Rupert Latimer’s will. ‘Last week you mentioned the solicitor who was handling the probate, but you didn’t tell me his name. Was it Rhodes, by any chance?’
‘Yes, that’s right, Norman Rhodes, his office is in Leeds.’
We were on the point of leaving when the stable lads returned from exercising the horses. The senior of them handed the reins of his charge to one of his colleagues and approached us. ‘That Armstrong tried to block us from using the path alongside the woods like you said he might. I told him we were just obeying your orders and if he wasn’t happy about it, he should take it up with you. He was still arguing the toss and then he saw somebody appear out of the forest and took off like a bat out of hell.’
‘Who was it? Did you recognize them?’ I intervened.
The stable lad looked from me to Barbara and back again before replying. ‘The thing is, I did and I didn’t. I thought it might have been that bloke who was here–you know, the tramp–but I can’t be certain.’
‘You must have recognized him if it was the tramp, surely. That beard is a dead giveaway. How many other men have you seen around here who look like a hippie or a young Santa Claus?’
‘Aye, well, that’s the pro
blem, see. He was dressed like that tramp, but he didn’t have a beard. So either there’s two blokes dressed alike or he’s found his lost razor.’
The knowledge that Barbara had returned safe and apparently unharmed from her mysterious absence gave Eve and me opportunity for some time to ourselves, and it was a couple of days later before either of us gave any further thought to the murder of Barbara’s ex-husband. We might not have done so even then, had it not been for John Pickersgill calling in early one morning on the flimsy pretext of requiring a mug of tea. Not unnaturally, Eve asked about progress on the case.
‘We’re going nowhere fast,’ Pickersgill told us. ‘Of course, when I say “we,” I mean Ogden and his sidekick in CID. They don’t involve the likes of me in their deliberations. As I’m excluded from that club, I thought I’d come and see if you had any bright ideas to offer.’
‘Not really,’ I admitted, ‘to be honest we’ve not paid much attention to it. One question I did mean to ask was if you knew when Lewis was murdered? Or is that part of the information Ogden is keeping to himself?’
‘Actually, I do know that, but it’s no thanks to Ogden. I saw a copy of the pathologist’s report. I was handed the important task of delivering it to the coroner, and the envelope wasn’t sealed. It wasn’t very well sealed,’ he added with a wicked grin. ‘He put the approximate time of death at somewhere between late morning and evening of the day before his body was recovered from Thorsgill Beck. The report went on to state that he couldn’t be more precise because he wasn’t certain whether the body had been placed in the water immediately after death or at some later stage.’
