by Bill Kitson
‘Let me get a dustpan and brush first.’ She pointed to the broken glass from the door, which was scattered across the quarry tiles. ‘I don’t want those tiles getting scratched.’
The intruder had shown as little finesse to gain entry to the house as he had once inside. The pane of glass next to the lock had been smashed, enabling him to put his hand in, turn the key and walk in. As I looked at it, I wondered what the insurance company would have to say on the matter. It didn’t take long for my worst fears to be realized.
It was with considerable trepidation that we followed Pickersgill upstairs, leaving Charlie to keep a lookout for the arrival of the fingerprint men. Luckily, whether the assault on the ground floor had exhausted the intruder’s rage, or they had feared a further attack would entail too much risk, all the rooms on the upper floor were untouched. ‘At least we’ll have somewhere to sleep,’ I said. I was determined to stay upbeat.
‘I’m not sure how much sleep I’ll get, knowing what’s downstairs,’ Eve replied.
We returned to the ground floor, where Eve suggested it was time to brew a pot of tea. Pickersgill gave her a broad smile of approval. ‘You’re a lucky man, Adam. I wish my wife could read my mind the way Eve can.’ He paused for a moment and reconsidered, ‘No, perhaps it’s as well she can’t.’
As we waited for the kettle, he told us, ‘I do have a bit of good news, regarding that hit-and-run accident. We found the vehicle that was involved, or rather a couple of birdwatchers did. They were in a disused quarry the other side of Rowandale looking for a Lesser-spotted something-or-other, and came across an abandoned pick-up that someone had tried to torch. Luckily the arson attempt failed, because we were able to match paint scrapings from the car that Thompson was driving to scratches on the bull bar. Also, we got some fingerprints from the steering wheel, so if we can identify a suspect, we might be able to charge them with murder. I’ve also sent them through to Leeds to see if DS Middleton can match them with anything they got from Mitchell’s house or garage.’
The fingerprint officers were still busy creating dust for us to clean up, when Inspector Hardy arrived. He had news for us. ‘I checked back into the body in the Tyne. The investigation was sloppy. After all that time in the water, there wasn’t much to identify. Conclusion: they’d found a body, a man was thought to be missing in the river, they confirmed the jacket on the deceased belonged to the missing man, case closed. Were it not for the incidents of the past few weeks, for which Gerry Crowther has alibis, I might have been tempted to consider him as a suspect in killing the man they found in the river. However, as all these incidents are quite obviously linked, I think it safe to discount him now. So, what happened here?’
We briefed him on what we knew, supported by Pickersgill. His assessment was similar to mine, and at some point during our discussion, Hardy enquired about our trip to London. We explained what we knew, which wasn’t much. ‘We’re still no nearer discovering who was behind the attempts on Gerry Crowther’s life. Even a motive would be a massive step forward.’
‘That’s often the way of it. Sometimes it isn’t down to detective’s inspiration or routine police work. In many instances, pure chance gives us the clues we need to solve a case. Perhaps luck will be on our side this time.’
I was to remember Hardy’s comment later. Chance provided us with the name of the mole in Pattison’s organisation, and chance most definitely led to our discovery of a motive – chance, plus the villains themselves.
By common consent, we opted to dine at the village pub that evening, although by the time we reached the Admiral Nelson, we were almost too late to order. As we left the house, I closed the door behind me and prepared to walk down the drive. ‘Haven’t you forgotten something?’ Eve asked.
‘Such as?’
‘Locking the door might be a good idea, don’t you think? It may seem an old-fashioned notion, but it’s quite popular, I believe.’ Have I mentioned that Eve has a sarcastic turn of phrase at times?
I shrugged. ‘It didn’t seem worth the effort. Pretty much everything of value is broken. Besides which, locked doors didn’t prevent the previous intrusion. I don’t see what more they can do, except perhaps burn the house down.’
Eve shuddered. ‘Don’t say that, Adam, even in jest. Please, for my peace of mind, lock the door.’
I found it impossible to resist her coaxing tone and the appeal in those big eyes. Besides which, it was the sensible thing to do.
The bar at the pub was all but empty. ‘Are we too late to order?’ I asked the landlord.
‘I’ll ask the missus.’ He disappeared into the kitchen and returned a few minutes later. ‘You’re OK, seeing it’s you, she’ll cook you a meal. What brings you here midweek, anyway?’
I explained about the burglary. ‘By the look of things, they didn’t steal anything. We don’t think that was their intention. The house is a hell of a mess, though.’
‘If you’d said that, my wife would have cooked you something even if it had been near closing time, Adam.’ He poured our drinks, before uttering the Yorkshireman’s favourite saying. ‘These are on the house.’
When the meal was ready, we ambled through to the dining room. This prevented me from suffering a humiliating defeat at darts by a fifteen-year-old. Charlie showed great skill for someone who did not frequent pubs. As we dined, we discussed what to do about the carnage at Eden House. ‘First thing, I’ll have to get in touch with the insurance company in the morning. Quite how I do that is another matter. Maybe we should buy some carrier pigeons. Then I’ll have to see how quickly the GPO can fix our phone line.’
‘British Telecom,’ Charlie interrupted. ‘That’s who it is now.’
I nodded in appreciation of his help and continued, ‘It’s going to be a damned nuisance being unable to communicate with anyone. I don’t fancy trying to negotiate with insurers or phone suppliers while having to feed a public call box with coins.’
‘Isn’t there someone whose phone we could use? If we recompense them, I mean. It isn’t simply the outgoing calls. The fact that no one can phone you back is going to make it intolerable.’
We sat there in depressed silence for a few minutes, until Charlie said, ‘Aunt Evie, what was it you were going to tell Adam?’
I realized later that it was Charlie’s way of trying to lift our spirits, by distracting us from all that had gone wrong. His question had Eve baffled momentarily. ‘What are you on about, Charlie?’
‘When we were in the study, wasn’t there something you were going to tell Adam, but not while Mr Pickersgill was there.’
‘Oh yes, I’d quite forgotten about that. You remember what you said when you saw what they’d done to your typewriter, Adam? Something about not being able to type, wasn’t it?’
I nodded. ‘What about it?’
‘That, plus what you said about the paperwork Lew sent us made me wonder. I suddenly realised that the person who was in the best position to act as the mole might be the person who typed those notes up in the first place. Unless they’re completely dense they must have had some idea as to why Lew suddenly wanted that job doing, referring to people who had been out of the limelight for so long. Maybe they didn’t get the full implication, but if they are involved, the fact that it was all about Northern Lights must have triggered alarm bells.’
Eve paused, possibly for breath, but more likely for dramatic effect, before continuing, ‘Then a few minutes later Johnny Pickersgill said that whoever had done this must have known we were in London and there was no chance of them being disturbed, and that made me think the person most likely to know that was a member of Lew’s workforce. I want to find out who that is and confront them about the damage to my home – our home.’
I could see tears of anger in her eyes and put my hand on hers. ‘I love it when you refer to it as our home. It reminds me what a lucky man I am.’
The magic of the moment was broken by Charlie. ‘If you two are going to go all soppy and sentime
ntal on me, I’m off back into the bar to see if there’s anyone to play darts with.’
‘You’re only jealous because Trudi isn’t here for you to stare adoringly at,’ I teased him.
‘What’s even worse,’ Eve added with a wicked smile, ‘with our phone out of action, you can’t even call her.’
Charlie stared at his aunt, assessing how much she knew, and how much was guesswork. Eve chuckled. ‘Come off it, Charlie, you didn’t imagine your little note-passing episode had gone unnoticed by me or Trudi’s mother, did you?’
Chapter Sixteen
The week following the burglary was marked by a seemingly endless round of frustration, fuelled by our inability to communicate with the outside world with any degree of ease, and the implacable determination of those at the end of such calls as we could make to throw as many obstacles in our way as they could think of.
After countless attempts to conduct sensible conversations with either British Telecom or our insurance company, I resorted to underhand means. The very real threat of refusing to pay had not worked. My plans to present a consumer programme on national television exposing the shortfalls in their customer relations commanded instant attention. However, with an insurance company, attention and action have only their initial letter in common.
Having been told that in order to process the claim, they would need to send an assessor out, I asked when this would happen. I was informed by the helpful but dim clerical person that they would pass my details to the assessors. They then asked for a telephone number where the assessor could contact me to arrange an appointment.
As I had been feeding coins into the hungry public phone box for the past fifteen minutes, that remark caused a severe sense of humour failure on my part. Without descending into the use of choice Anglo-Saxon vocabulary, I nevertheless succeeded in putting across my low opinion of the shortcomings of the insurance industry, the company, and the individual I was speaking to. My response was the sound of the dialling tone.
My relief at seeing the arrival of the British Telecom engineer to fix the phone was exceeded by the delight of Eve and especially Charlie, who had been walking around me for the previous few days with all the caution of an explorer circling a lake he believed to be infested with man-eating crocodiles.
Not that our problems ended there, far from it. Resuming negotiations with the insurers, I soon came to the conclusion that my card had been marked, ‘difficult customer, be as obstructive as possible’. They informed me, with a trace of glee, that their assessor was on holiday.
‘Well, lucky for him,’ I replied. ‘What am I supposed to do in the meantime?’
There was no answer, so I ploughed on. ‘Should I go ahead and replaced the damaged items?’
I was told that they could not be responsible for the claim should I do that. ‘Very well,’ I told them cheerfully – I can do glee as well as the next man – ‘as the house cannot be secured without your authority, I’m putting you on notice that you will be responsible should another incursion happen.’
They grudgingly agreed to allow the repairs to the back door, but no more than that.
Without television to distract us, and being unable to restore our living areas to habitable status, there was little to encourage us to stay home in the evenings. The takings at the Admiral Nelson benefited by our frequent forays to dine there, and those of the locals who had the patience to listen were treated to a diatribe regarding the evils of the insurance industry as a whole, and one company in particular.
On those evenings when we did stay at Eden House, the lack of a television proved more frustrating for Eve and Charlie than for me. They resolved this by using the transistor radio which had escaped the attention of the invader. It was on one of these evenings, when they had left the radio on while they went outside to admire the sun, setting over Rowandale High Moor, that my attention was caught by a tune being played by the resident presenter. I was in the process of preparing dinner, a chicken and rice dish I had grown to like during my time in Africa. As I listened, the hauntingly familiar refrain was accompanied by a superb guitar solo. When the melody ended, I stood for a moment, thankful that I hadn’t diced my finger along with the chicken breasts.
My mind was in a whirl, and it was only much later that evening that I got my thoughts in order. ‘I need to go to Thorsby tomorrow,’ I told Eve and Charlie.
‘Any particular reason?’ Eve asked. ‘I thought we had all the shopping we need – apart from something to sit on, which we can’t get until some bloke returns from Benidorm.’
I explained the reason for my trip, before adding, ‘If I’m right, we need Crowther here. He’s the only person who can tell whether I’m on to something, or whether I’ve got the wrong end of the stick.’
As it transpired, having the phone back in working order was the least of our difficulties. Discounting the intransigent attitude of the insurance company, when we tried to contact those we needed to speak to, we met with further frustration. This time, fortunately for domestic harmony, Eve had to put up with the barriers to progress. Her first call, to Lew Pattison, ended swiftly. As she put the phone down, she told us, ‘Lew has gone to Italy, and from there to Canada, and won’t be back in England for another ten days. I’ll try Sheila next.’
Although the Crowther family had not left the country, Sheila told Eve they would not be returning to Yorkshire as quickly as they had hoped.
‘They have to wait for the landlord to inspect the flat,’ Eve explained. ‘Until he’s satisfied Sheila hasn’t wrecked the place or allowed squatters to take over, he won’t release the bond she paid to secure the place. Unfortunately, he’s on holiday in Spain.’
‘Probably supping San Miguel in a bar in Benidorm with that bloody insurance assessor.’
‘One good thing,’ – for some reason I couldn’t understand, Eve seemed anxious to change the subject – ‘is that I spoke to Harvey Jackson, and he’s agreed to get all Lew’s notes photocopied and sent up to us.’
Two days later, the postman, who must have been considering the advisability of investing in a surgical truss with the heavy parcels he had to deliver, brought us the replacement notes. We all went through them, and with the light of what we had learned, Eve came up with an interesting theory. ‘Have you taken on board what Lew said about Robbie Roberts?’
‘Only that he started a pop magazine and became really successful.’
‘That’s right, Music Magic. My question is, how did he do it?’
Charlie and I exchanged puzzled glances. ‘Sorry, you’ve lost me,’ I admitted.
‘OK, imagine you decide to start a magazine. Don’t worry what the subject is, concentrate on the mechanics. Where do you begin?’
I guessed that the lack of enlightenment on Charlie’s face mirrored my own. ‘Sorry to appear dim, but we still haven’t caught on.’
‘OK, let’s look at what you would need.’ Eve enumerated the points, using the fingers of her right hand. ‘First, you need business premises, whether bought or rented. You need an office, with furniture, telephone, and at least one typewriter. There would be stationery and so forth to buy. In addition, you would require access to printing facilities, plus paper and ink. To run the operation, you would need staff. Not only in the office, but news-gathering – and most important of all, sales and marketing.’
‘I get all that, but what’s your point, Evie?’
‘Where would the money come from? If you didn’t have it stored in an old sock under the bed you’d need an investor or a very understanding bank manager.’
The penny dropped. It had taken some time to fall, but at last I got the message. ‘What you’re saying is, where did Roberts get the money to fund the magazine until it was established enough to pay its own way?’
‘Exactly. And that is a question we really need to address.’
Although the delay to proceed with replacing our demolished possessions was extremely frustrating, it enabled us to help Gerry and Sheila with th
e removal from Sheila’s London flat.
Eve got a phone call from Sheila, and although I only heard one half of the conversation, I was aware that I was in the process of being volunteered. ‘I can understand that,’ Eve told Sheila, ‘and I’ll ask Adam if he’ll do it for you. I feel sure I can persuade him to say yes.’
After she rang off, I walked out of the study. Eve smiled sweetly at me. This is often a danger signal, but on this occasion it was clear she was going to ask a favour. ‘That was Sheila on the phone. They’ve decided a lot of her furniture isn’t worth bringing up here. They’re going to send what they don’t want to a saleroom. The thing is, Sheila says it isn’t worth getting a removals firm with a huge pantechnicon for what they want to carry. The alternative is to hire a van, but as it’s almost twenty years since Gerry drove, he doesn’t feel confident of driving a strange vehicle, especially with the amount of traffic on the roads these days. They want to come back as soon as possible. Sheila said Gerry’s getting twitchy about his tomatoes and broody about his hens.’
‘I can understand that. Have you come up with a solution?’
‘Well, I did wonder if we could help. Perhaps if we hire a van and collect their stuff we could bring them back here lock, stock, and barrel. You could drive the van and I’ll take your car.’
‘That’s a lot of time, trouble, and expense,’ I pointed out.
‘Sheila said they’ll pay all the costs. What do you think?’
‘What’s it worth?’ I glanced towards the stairs as I spoke, the implication obvious.
Eve smiled seductively and sidled up to me, her body pressed against mine. ‘If you agree, big boy, I’ll do your favourite thing, specially for you. I’ll bake you a chocolate cake.’
That wasn’t quite what I had in mind. Still, the cake was delicious.
