Bartlett chuckled and winked at his wife.
‘Yes, they’re a lovely couple. Any more idea when the wedding is going to be?’
‘They haven’t said. They don’t even know where they’ll be living yet. I suppose they could come here until they find somewhere of their own.’
‘Now, Princess … stop there. I love Irene more than my own life but I’m drawing the line there. We had to live with your mother, sneaking around like two schoolchildren for the first two years we were married … don’t get me wrong, I loved your mother but it wouldn’t have been my first choice to live in her house. No. I’m putting my foot down. They’ll have to find somewhere soon or delay the wedding – it won’t hurt them to wait. We’re getting old together – on our own! It’s time I had you all to myself. They’ll have to sort themselves out.’
Caroline didn’t argue. She knew how Bartlett felt on the matter; this wasn’t the first time they’d discussed it. She respected his thoughts and felt he was probably right.
Boase and Irene took the short walk from Penmere Hill to the recreation ground and joined the long queue for the circus. Irene slipped her arm through his and he patted her hand.
‘Looking forward to it?’
‘Yes, very much, Archie – I hope they won’t be cruel to the animals. Do you think they look after them properly?’
‘I’m sure they do – don’t worry.’
As Boase spoke, he was watching two figures standing in the shadows. There was a young woman speaking intently to someone he could barely see. She was holding a newspaper up and the pair were looking at it. Suddenly she leaned forward to embrace the other person. Boase leaned further forward to try to see what was happening. Irene saw what he was doing.
‘Archie – you must be the nosiest person I’ve ever met. Apart from Dad, that is. What are you looking at?’
‘Oh, nothing.’
Boase continued to watch as the woman walked away and the other person came forward towards the queue.
‘Look, Irene. That’s Clicker – you know, the old clown I was telling you about. He looks a bit fed up … do you think he’s all right?’
‘I thought clowns were supposed to be fed up – isn’t that part of their act?’
‘Well, maybe.’
Boase pushed Irene further forward in the queue and kissed her head. He didn’t want to ruin her evening. That was a strange business, all the same.
The young couple were enjoying the circus immensely. Irene loved the juggling sisters. She whispered to Boase, ‘I’d love to do something like that. Can you see me in a band of jugglers, Archie?’
‘Um … no, Irene – I don’t really think I can.’
Irene poked him playfully and giggled. Suddenly the Big Top fell into darkness. A car horn was heard.
‘PARP. PARP.’
‘Oh, Archie – it’s the clowns. Look, here they come.’
The crowd cheered and clapped as two clowns entered the ring, one in a funny little car, the other on foot – on very big feet. Suddenly the crowd fell silent. All at once they began to chant.
‘We want Clicker! We want Clicker! CLICK-ER! CLICK-ER!’
The chanting was now accompanied by the stamping of feet as the crowd became louder.
As the people waited, a large spotlight lit up the ring and there stood the ringmaster.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, can I have your attention please.’
They all listened and waited.
‘I’m afraid Clicker can’t be with us tonight. He’s a very old clown and is feeling rather unwell this evening.’
At that, the crowd booed loudly and several objects were thrown in the direction of the ringmaster.
‘Boo! BOOOO!’
‘Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, please.’
As the ringmaster tried to gain some control over the situation, the people fell suddenly quiet and then burst into uncontrollable laughter. They had spotted the two clowns playing leapfrog, very badly, and one had got his enormous shoe trapped inside the coat pocket of the other. The ringmaster, seeing his opportunity for escape, fled to the back of the ring and was gone.
Irene looked up at Boase.
‘What do you think happened to Clicker? You thought there was something wrong.’
‘I don’t know – maybe he just wasn’t well enough to perform. Hope he’s OK.’
The pair settled down along with the rest of the crowd to enjoy the remaining entertainment.
Back at the Bartlett house, Boase sat down in an armchair and drank a cup of tea.
‘You should have seen them, sir, it was hilarious – they were even throwing things at the ringmaster.’
‘Well, I really don’t know – what a carry on.’
Bartlett was puffing on his pipe.
‘Why were they so angry?’
‘Well, Dad, I suppose because Clicker didn’t turn up – they say he’s the star of the show.’
Irene went out into the kitchen. ‘Anyone want more tea?’
‘Not for me dear, I’m going up to bed – I feel quite tired.’
Caroline rose from her chair and, patting Topper on the head, went to the door.
‘You all right, Princess?’
‘Yes, I’m fine, George, dear. Goodnight. Goodbye, Archie – we’ll see you again soon, I hope?’
‘Yes, I hope so, Mrs Bartlett – I mean, Caroline. Goodnight. I should be going home too. Thanks, Irene – that was such good fun.’
Irene was leaning against the kitchen door.
‘Yes, it was – I do hope the animals are all right. What do you think, Dad?’
‘I’m sure they are, Irene – you don’t know what to worry about next. I’m sure they’re well looked after. Those lions I saw yesterday looked in pretty good health, roaring right next to my head.’
‘But don’t you worry that they’re supposed to be in the jungle?’
‘Well, yes, sometimes – but then, when would people like us ever see them – except in zoos?’
‘Well, that’s another thing, though, isn’t it?’
‘Irene – don’t start all that. It’s getting late – I think I’m off to bed too. Goodnight both. Don’t be long, Irene.’
Bartlett left the room and Boase and Irene kissed, happy to be alone again.
‘I really have to go, Irene. I can’t stay here all night.’
‘I wish you could, Archie.’
‘Oh, yes – so do I. Come on now, let go.’
He prised himself from her embrace and made his way out.
Irene walked to the front door and waved as Boase left through the garden gate.
Chapter Three
George Bartlett hung his coat on the peg in his office and lit his pipe. As he drew his chair to his desk, he called out loudly.
‘Penhaligon … Penhaligon!’
The door burst open and Constable Penhaligon stood there.
‘You all right, Inspector Bartlett, sir?’
‘Of course I’m all right – just wondering what I have to do to get a cup of tea around here?’
‘Oh right, sorry, sir – I thought there was something wrong.’
‘Well, there is – I’m thirsty. How’s your mother coming along, Penhaligon?’
‘She’s very well, thank you, sir. Yes, thanks for asking – she’s much better than she was. My sister Dorothy is staying on for a bit to look after her until she’s completely well again.’
‘That’s excellent news, really it is – your mother is a lovely woman. Be sure to give her my best, won’t you? Now, what about that tea?’
‘Very good sir, it’s on the way.’
Penhaligon closed the door and left Bartlett alone. The inspector puffed on his pipe and wondered what the latest on the church theft was – it had all gone very quiet. As he mulled it over, the door opened again. This time, it was Boase.
‘Morning, sir.’
‘Good morning, Boase. How are you?’
‘I’m just fine, sir, b
ut I’ve just had a strange story relayed to me.’
‘Go on. I’m listening – Penhaligon’s just making some tea. Tell me your “strange story”.’
‘Well, one of the circus troupe I met the other day came running after me down Killigrew.’
‘Bit odd, that? Who was it?’
‘Well, it was Billy Jones – one of the clowns.’
‘What did he want?’
‘He was just standing outside the recreation ground when he saw me passing on the other side of the road. He said that he was worried about Clicker – you know, the lead clown. He said he hadn’t seen him since yesterday afternoon.’
‘Is that a problem?’
‘Well, he says Clicker is really reliable – he’s been with the circus for years, man and boy. He says it’s not like him to go missing. In fact, I saw him myself, last evening – when I was queuing up with Irene. He was talking to a woman and then he didn’t turn up for the performance. That’s what I was telling you about – the crowd went mad because he wasn’t there – he’s practically the star of the show.’
‘Is this man worried about Clicker?’
‘He seemed to be very worried.’
‘Well, I don’t think we can do anything yet – it might seem a bit premature. What do you think?’
‘He’s quite an old man, sir. Maybe we should be concerned. And it’s out of character.’
‘You think we should be looking for him?’
‘Well, not a manhunt as such – but maybe we should be keeping our eyes open, asking a few questions.’
‘You win, Boase. Let everyone know what’s happened and to be on the lookout – but I think it’s too early to start panicking.’
‘Right you are, sir, I’ll let them know.’
‘Anything more on this church business?’
‘Not a thing, no.’
Suddenly, hearing a scraping sound, Boase looked towards the door. He walked over and opened it to find Penhaligon’s shoulder against it and the constable bearing a large tray. Boase held the door open wide enough to accommodate both man and tray.
‘Thank you, sir. I’ve brought some goodies for you both.’
Penhaligon laid the tray down on Bartlett’s desk and the three men stared at it. There was a teapot, two cups and saucers and a large plate upon which were two sausage rolls, two large slices of fruit cake and two cherry buns. Penhaligon grinned at Bartlett and Boase.
‘These are from Superintendent Greet. He said he thought we’d all appreciate a little treat.’
Boase stared at the constable.
‘Let me see if I’ve got this exactly right … Greet said he’d like to give us a little treat. Superintendent Bertram Greet from upstairs?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Boase looked, at Bartlett who shrugged his shoulders.
‘Don’t look at me – I’m as perplexed as you are. Just tuck in. Quickly, before he changes his mind. Thank you, Penhaligon.’
The pair finished all the food and drank the tea.
‘I’ve never known you to eat this early, sir.’
‘Well, shame to waste it – he’s up to something though, you mark my words. Anyway, we need to get on, can’t sit here all day. I’ve got some papers for you to go through, including an update for Greet on the church business. I need to have a word with those constables about their note-taking, too – I think I’ll get that out of the way this morning.’
‘Righto, sir.’
Boase removed a large pile of papers from Bartlett’s desk and began to work on them immediately. Bartlett went to find the constables who were on duty in a bid to improve their note-taking and, he hoped, their handwriting.’
As the desk sergeant looked at the clock above the bench in the outer office and saw it was half past eleven, a small boy burst through the main door of the police station and grabbed the sergeant’s tunic sleeve.
‘Oy, young man, I’ll thank you to get yer ’ands off – I’ve just put this on clean this mornin’ – what d’you want anyway, tearing in ’ere like there’s bin a murder or something?’
‘But there ’as, there ’as – ’onest there ’as, mister.’
‘It’s “Sergeant” to you, you little blighter – an’ what d’you mean – there’s bin a murder?’
The desk sergeant looked down at the boy who appeared to be about eleven or twelve years old, wearing a fisherman’s smock, thick drill trousers and a peaked cap. His feet were bare.
‘’Ere … aren’t you one of them Barnicoat boys – you’re Billy Barnicoat’s lad.’
‘Yeah – an’ there’s still bin a murder. Wot you goin’ to do about it, mister?’
‘I’ll give you “Mister”. Sit down over there on that bench and behave yerself.’
The boy sat down and the sergeant walked over and sat next to him with a notebook and pencil.
‘So … who’s bin murdered I should like to know – and where?’
‘There’s a dead man. I’ve seen ’im. There’s all blood comin’ from ’is ’ead – loads an’ loads of blood. I’ve seen ’im – ’e’s up ’Unter’s Path.’
‘Well, ’ow do I know I can believe you?’
‘’Cos I’m telling the truth – really I am.’
The boy became less excited as the sergeant continued to doubt him and as the novelty of his apparent find wore off.
‘So, can you show one of my constables where this body is? Could you take him there now?’
‘Yes … course I can.’
‘You’d better not be telling me fibs young man – do you know you could get into serious trouble telling fibs to a policeman?’
The boy nodded.
The sergeant went to fetch Coad and sent him off with the boy in search of his find.
Boase stood up and stretched. He hated sitting at a desk shuffling paper. He’d rather be out talking to people, getting on with real police work. Still, this was all a part of his job. If he didn’t spend so much time thinking about his lovely Irene then he might get on a bit quicker. He pulled open the top drawer of his desk and drew out a brown paper bag. He opened it to reveal a thick ham sandwich and laid it on the desk in front of him. As he considered whether he wanted the whole sandwich or just a half at this point, the door opened and Penhaligon stood there with a cup of tea.
‘You read my mind, Penhaligon, well done.’
The constable placed the cup on the desk.
‘Inspector Bartlett said he’ll be in shortly – ’e’s just finishing up ’is lecture.’
‘His lecture?’
‘Yes – ’e’s bin goin’ mad with everyone … says we don’t know ’ow to take notes.’
‘Well, I can’t disagree with him on that one.’
Penhaligon sighed and left the room. Within a couple of minutes, Bartlett returned.
‘These young men, Boase, they think they know it all. Got an answer for everything. Well, I don’t think we’ll get so much trouble from now on – I’ve just told them straight. How’s all that coming along?’
‘All done, sir – thank goodness. I detest paperwork, I really do.’
As Boase picked up his sandwich, the door burst open and the desk sergeant came in, red in the face with Penhaligon standing behind him. He addressed Bartlett.
‘I’m so sorry, sir, Coad has just been up to Hunter’s Path with that Barnicoat boy who was in here this morning. There’s a body up there, sir.’
‘A body – well, who is it?’
‘We don’t know, sir. Coad stayed there and got word to us.’
‘Come on, Boase – Hunter’s Path, you say?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Bartlett and Boase ran to the door of the station and got into one of two police cars that were waiting at the front.
After a short drive the police car drew to a halt underneath Pendennis Castle and Bartlett and Boase walked quickly to Hunter’s Path and towards the precise location they had been given. Coad was waiting for them.
‘What’s going on here,
Coad?’
Coad stood to one side to reveal the body of a man lying on the ground.
‘He’s been shot through the head, sir.’
Bartlett knelt down by the body.
‘No trace of a weapon by the body so definitely not suicide. We need to identify this poor chap as soon as possible. Boase?’
The younger man stepped closer to the body.
‘Oh no! I know who this is, sir.’
‘Who is it?’
Boase stepped back and looked at Bartlett.
‘It’s Clicker, sir.’
‘Clicker? The clown? You sure about that?’
‘Yes, sir, I am. I saw him only last night when Irene and I went to the circus.’
‘I thought you said he didn’t turn up?’
‘That’s right – but I spotted him while we were queuing. Irene saw him too. I never said anything because it didn’t seem important. I just thought he was unwell – being so old and all that.’
‘So, why on earth would he be here, shot through the head? Did he seem all right when you saw him?’
‘I’m not really sure, sir. He looked a bit fed up – I said as much to Irene.’
‘What was he doing when you saw him?’
‘He was standing behind one of the caravans talking to a young woman. They were looking at a newspaper then she put her arms around him and they went off in different directions.’
‘Right, well, we’ll talk about that more later. Make arrangements to get this place examined and to sort out this poor old man.’
Having returned to the station, Bartlett and Boase sat in their shared office. Bartlett lit his pipe.
‘So, where do we start with this, Boase? Any ideas?’
‘Yes, sir. Plenty. I think we need to start with the those people at the circus – we need to get up there straight away.’
‘I agree – that’s a good starting point. Get some men together will you?’
As Bartlett and Boase walked up Killigrew and made their way to the recreation ground, Boase pulled a small pork pie from his pocket.
‘You can’t be hungry again, Boase. After all that food this morning?’
‘Well, I just noticed this in my pocket this morning, sir – I think it’s on the turn, so I thought I should eat it today.’
‘You’re going to end up poisoning yourself. Anyway, never mind that – who was this woman you saw speaking to the clown?’
A Fool and His Money Page 3
