The Dudleys of Budleigh

by P A Nash

  As they emerged from their car, Frank turned to Ella and asked: “Phone App working?”

  “Yes, all switched on!”

  “Fully charged?”

  “Of course!”

  They couldn’t see a bell so knocked as loudly as they could on the front door. It was soon opened.

  “Come in. Welcome to me ‘umble abode!”

  He led them into a cosy but dated front room. They all sat down in some surprisingly comfortable armchairs.

  “Thank you for seeing us, Mr Weston. I’m Ella Raleigh and this is my husband, Frank. We’re helping Mrs Aylesbeare who was Mr Buckerell’s secretary.”

  “Yeah, Mrs Aylesbeare. Sweet little lady. She phoned.”

  “Yes, she’s the executor of the will and she asked us to help her.”

  “What d’yer want with me?”

  “Mr Buckerell’s will is being read soon and we have been asked to find out if you are willing to attend.”

  “Me?” guffawed Dudley Weston. “ Has the old geezer left me some of his loot?” He laughed and banged his hand on the arm of his chair.

  “We’re not at liberty to say.”

  “Why is that so funny, Mr Weston?” Frank asked.

  “Listen, I’m going to tell you a story about Anthony Buckerell and me. Now ‘e’s gone, it’ll do me good to get it all out in the open. He can’t get me now!”

  ***

  “Anthony, what a complete and utter mess.”

  “You know, I think I’d agree with you.”

  “Why did Vanessa leave you?”

  “Same reason as she left you, I should think. She found something or someone better. With you, it was me. With me, it was the lure of New Zealand. Rugby players, different pace of life, fresh air, mountains, scenery. You name it, New Zealand was the place to be in Vanessa’s eyes.”

  “And you just let her go, without telling me?”

  “Of course, she’s her own person. She rejected you. She rejected me.”

  “Rejected is a harsh word.”

  “But the truth. I wasn’t worried. She didn’t make too many demands on my money. She left me the house. I paid for her travel and a lump sum to help her get settled. She’s done quite well out of me.”

  “Then why did you go to New Zealand then? To get her back?”

  “Certainly not. As she once, quite rightly said, I was married to my profession.”

  “And money!”

  “An indisputable truth.”

  “Then why did you go?”

  “I needed her to sign a few forms. Divorce and finance agreements. Also, you wanted information and, I should think you’re very happy with what I provided.”

  “At a price.”

  “There’s no such thing as a free lunch these days.”

  “Unless you’re a solicitor!”

  “That’s good. It might also be another truth!”

  “Look. Don’t think I’m not grateful for the information you gave me. At least, I can write to her again.”

  “Again?”

  “Yes, I don’t suppose you knew, but I wrote regularly to her when you were married to her.”

  Does your charming wife know about your writings?”

  “Don’t be silly. Doreen would leave me if she found out. She never knew about it. “

  “But I did. Vanessa never received any of your flowery letters. I burned them all as soon as they arrived.”

  “What? How could you?”

  “Excuse me, you were writing silly little love letters to my wife. I should think I had every right to dispose of them as I saw fit.”

  “No wonder she’s never written back. I thought it was out of loyalty to you. But you never gave her the opportunity!”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “And what about the New Zealand address. Was that just made up? Are my letters lying lost in some rural post office mailbag somewhere in New Zealand? No known address?”

  “No, that address was absolutely correct. Google it and you’ll find it.”

  “Then why hasn’t she replied?”

  “You’ll need to ask yourself that question!”

  “You…‌you…‌devil.”

  “Dudley, calm down. I brought your plant seeds back, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, but I pay through the nose for them.”

  “Of course. I should think the police and customs would be most interested to question someone who is illegally raising exotic plants that New Zealand has banned from being exported!”

  “I should go to the police and let them deal with you. Or, better still, kill you myself.”

  “Either way, you’ll receive the bigger sentence. I was just the, what do they call it, the mule? The mug? The duped tourist? You were Mister Big.”

  “Shut up!”

  “Careful or I’ll have to consider raising the cost of our little arrangement. Speaking of which, I’ve got another little package here from Vanessa for you. She’s very happy to think that I’ve found a little hobby. She thinks it gives me a break from my profession.”

  “I think your only profession these days is making money off me!”

  “Oh, you should be so lucky. You’re not the only iron in my fire! Have you told her about your botanical hobby in your letters?”

  “Not yet. I should, though.”

  “No, you shouldn’t. She may start thinking about why and what and who.”

  “I don’t understand?”

  “Good, let’s keep it that way.”

  ***

  “That was the last conversation we had. I saw him a couple of days before he died but we didn’t speak.”

  “It sounds as if he was blackmailing you?”

  “I expect he was. I wish I’d never received any of those stupid packages. I’m gonna make a big bonfire and burn every last one of those wretched Antipodean plants.”

  “Can we see them before you do?”

  “I suppose so. Why?”

  “Just interested to see if they flourish in Devon. I suppose it’s the same sort of climate as in New Zealand, so they should flourish.”

  “Yes, of course,” Dudley replied rather distractedly, “Follow me.”

  “Are you able to attend the reading of the will?” Frank asked.

  “Abso—bloomin—lutely. It’ll be fascinating.” The enthusiastic words disguised an air of melancholia.

  “I’m sure Mrs Aylesbeare will be in contact to inform you of the time and the venue.”

  “It’ll be in his office, I reckon.”

  “Before we go outside, let me give you our phone number. Just in case, you want to speak further.” Frank was just about to hand him a card with their phone number on it when he stopped. “No, wait a minute. Let me add Mr Buckerell’s office number as well. Mrs Aylesbeare will be able to help you if you can’t contact us.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Lead the way,” said Ella.

  Dudley Weston left the card on the telephone table in the hallway as he took them out into the compact back garden. In one corner was a small but expensive–looking greenhouse. He unlocked the door and they followed him into a wonderland of greenery. Plants in all stages of development were draped over shelves, on the floor and some even attempting to escape through the air vents in the ceiling. There were a great number of ferns, all sizes, all shapes and every shade of green, brown and yellow that one could imagine. Some exotic coloured flowers stretched towards the artificial lighting spread around the glass walls.

  Ella was enthralled. She pointed at one aggressive looking climber. “That one climbing the wooden pole looks as if it could kill! I bet something like that would be quite deadly. “

  “No, don’t be silly. That’s not poisonous. Those climbing plants are all show and no substance. No, it’s the quiet ones that cause the damage. It’s always the quiet ones. Those two ferns in the corner by themselves. They’re really nasty. They did for my poor old cat the other week. She got in and…‌”

  “Oh, how sad!” Ella murmur
ed.

  Frank changed the subject and was full of admiration. “My word, it’s quite a collection. You must be so proud of them.”

  “I used to be. But now, it doesn’t really matter, does it? Nothing matters!”

  “Why? Because Anthony’s dead?”

  “Nah, because I received a letter from New Zealand this morning.”

  “From Vanessa!” cooed Ella.

  “Yes, Vanessa. She was the reason I grew this verdant fern collection of mine. It was my only connection with her. Until I could get her back into my life.”

  “What about your wife?”

  “I don’t love her. I never have. Unfortunately, for some reason, she loves me.”

  “But why destroy it all?”

  Vanessa’s just married this rugby playing farmer from Waitahuna Gully on South Island. She never wants to hear from me, ever again.”

  Chapter 9 – Umbrellas and Phone Calls

  “Well, that was another strange interview,” declared Ella.

  “So far, it seems that being on the receiving end of blackmail is becoming a motive for murder.”

  “Did you notice the plant connection again?”

  “Yes, but I still don’t understand how they did the murder?”

  “We can gather motives and opportunities until the cows come home but if we can’t work out how the murder was done…‌

  “You can’t charge somebody with murder when a murder hasn’t even been committed!”

  “Exactly!”

  Frank and Ella were sitting at home talking over the interviews and incidents of the past few days. They both felt they were going around in circles. They kept coming back to the question “How do you murder someone who is locked safely away in a police cell with two witnesses alongside them?”

  “We’re busy going nowhere!”

  At that moment the phone rang. Frank and Ella hardly received any calls on their landline phone these days.

  Ella got up, with a puzzled expression on her face. She picked up the phone and asked: “Hello, how can I help you?”

  The phone had been left on speaker—phone from the last phone—call made in the distant past. Frank was able to hear both ends of the conversation.

  “That’s a laugh! You can’t help anyone, can you?”

  The voice was a little muffled and obviously disguised. It wasn’t even possible to tell if it was male or female.

  “Hello, who is this?”

  “Call yourself detectives. You couldn’t detect a murder when it happens right in front of your face.”

  “Thank you for your opinion. Who am I listening to?”

  “It doesn’t matter who I am. I’m not the failure. When I’m finished with you, you’ll be the laughing stock of East Devon. I heard about your Cidered in Sidmouth. You got lucky. This time you’ll be Baffled in Budleigh! Ha—ha!! Bested in Budleigh. Bamboozled in Budleigh!”

  Ella was too shocked to reply. Frank came over to her and took the phone out of her hand.

  “Good afternoon, sir.”

  “Ha! Ha! Ha! Sir or madam? Another guess? You’ve got a 50 per cent chance of being wrong again!”

  “Our phone technology is far more advanced than your brain. Your number has come up on our screen. We’ll soon be tracking you down!”

  The connection was immediately broken.

  “Well done, Frank. That was clever,” stumbled Ella, “Have you written the number down?”

  “There was no number. It just said number withheld. But they weren’t quick enough to realise that.”

  Ella and Frank went back to their armchair and just sat there trying to calm down and rationalise the past few minutes.

  Eventually, Ella sighed, “That was scary? How did someone get our number?”

  “We’re in the directory.”

  “I don’t want to be anymore.”

  Frank nodded and silently promised to look in how they went about becoming ex—directory. They had never needed to think about that before. Even when teaching, no—one had abused the privacy of their home phone number.

  “Somebody is worried we’re getting close.”

  “Did it sound like any voice you recognised?”

  “No, it was disguised. Someone could have been holding a handkerchief or scarf in front of the phone.”

  “It sounded more like a tin or a saucepan judging by the echo.”

  Frank picked up his mobile phone and contacted WPC Knowle. This time, she was able to speak with him. He explained the call.

  “Right, next time they call, we’ll get them. We’ve got a voice recorder device that can not only record the call but track down where the call came from — regardless of whether the number is withheld or not. PC Hydon will be around in the morning to set it up. He’ll be there at eleven on the dot.”

  ***

  Next day, right on schedule, the voice recorder was fitted. PC Hydon showed both Frank and Ella how it was activated before bidding them farewell. Twenty minutes later, the phone rang. This time it was the grandmotherly tones of Mrs Aylesbeare. “Hello, Ella. I’ve just received a very strange call from Mrs Weston. It seems that Dudley has run away!”

  “Dudley Weston? But we were only over there yesterday.”

  “I know, Mrs Weston told me. She’s not very happy with you two. She thinks you scared him over Mr Buckerell’s death.”

  “I don’t think we even mentioned that he was a suspect.”

  “Well, she was very annoyed and very loud. She wanted to know where you lived.”

  “Why?”

  “I think she wants a few words with you.”

  There was a loud knocking at the door.

  “You didn’t tell her where we lived, did you?”

  “Of course not!”

  “How did she get your number?”

  “I asked that. She said she found it on a card by the telephone.”

  The knocking continued.

  “I’d better go. There’s someone at the door!”

  “Right, I just thought you should know. Goodbye.”

  “Goodbye, Mrs Aylesbeare, er, Alice.”

  Ella went to the front door, slipped the security chain on and tentatively opened the door a couple of centimetres.

  “Parcel delivery.”

  Ella released the chain and fully opened the door with a sigh of relief.

  “Thank you. Do I need to sign?”

  ***

  Ella related the gist of the phone call to Frank.

  “I think we’d better go around to her house. We can explain about our visit and maybe find out more about Dudley.”

  “I expect he’s gone away somewhere to think things over.”

  The day was cold so they gathered together coats and gloves and went to the car. As Frank was just reversing the car onto the road, another vehicle screeched to a halt blocking them in. A woman climbed out waving a rolled–up umbrella over her head. She came over to their car and thumped the umbrella menacingly on the roof of their car.

  “Get out. Get out. I want a word with you!”

  Frank opened the door and caught the umbrella in his hand snatching it away from the woman.

  “Mrs Weston, I presume.”

  “How did you know?”

  “Your reputation proceeds before you.”

  Ella had emerged from the car and came around to invite Mrs Weston indoors.

  “Do come in. A nice cup of tea and we’ll soon sort things out!”

  “Why should I? You’ve done something with him. Have you kidnapped him?”

  Frank was astounded “Mrs Weston, I can assure you…‌” That was as far as he got. Mrs Weston looked as if she was going to grab her umbrella back and use it on him.

  “Mrs Weston,” Ella shouted in an authoritative voice, “Do come in and Frank will make you a nice cup of tea. Unless you want a coffee?”

  “No, tea’ll do.”

  Ella directed Mrs Weston through the front door that Frank had opened. She shooed Frank towards the kitchen whils
t anxiously whispering “How did she get our address?”

  Then Mrs Weston and Ella went and sat down in the front room.

  “Isn’t it a beautiful view, Mrs Weston?”

  “Yes, is that Mutter’s Moor?”

  “It is indeed. And there’s Fire Beacon Hill.”

  “Yes, lovely.”

  “Now, how can we help you?”

  Mrs Weston appeared calmer as she took in the panoramic view from the window.

  “It’s my Dudley. What have you done to him?”

  “Nothing, Mrs Weston, absolutely nothing.”

  “But you came around yesterday and after you’d gone, he wasn’t the same.”

  “We said nothing to cause him any concerns. Are you sure it was our visit that upset him? Was he any different after we went or was he upset before we arrived?”

  “Now you mention it, there was something wrong with him all day.”

  “Interesting.”

  Frank came in with the tea and biscuits on a tray. Never had refreshments been prepared so quickly. He didn’t want to miss a word. Mrs Weston accepted a cup of tea and a malted milk biscuit. She needed to talk. So she did.

  “He spent the afternoon at his desk in the study. He didn’t say a word during our evening meal. After that, he said he was going to the pub. We normally go together. I don’t like him spending all his time there, drinking and whatever.”

  “Is he a bit of a drinker, then?”

  “No, not at all. But I like to keep an eye on him. Just in case.”

  “So he went to the pub without you?”

  “Yes, and he took the car. We normally walk. Saves on the petrol.”

  “What time did he come back?”

  “That’s just it. He didn’t.”

  “I walked down at about half—past eight to see if how he was. I suppose I wanted to make sure he hadn’t drunk too much and then got into the car to drive home. Heaven knows what might have happened.”

  “He wasn’t there, was he?” said Ella.

  “No, he hadn’t been there all evening. And he never came home later. His bed wasn’t slept in this morning.”

  “Has he phoned?”

  “No.”

  “Have you called the police?”

  “Yes. I explained the situation but they said they’ll have to wait till he’s been missing for over twenty—four hours.”