The Golf, Cheese and Chess Society

by Jason Blacker

  “Could be a codename for someone,” offered DCI Milling, “or might just have been misheard in her last moments.”

  Frances nodded and looked back down at the open drawer. The bus ticket was stamped at 1039pm. The train ticket from Bletchley was for 601pm. The train’s return ticket was leaving at 404pm today.

  DCI Milling joined her on that side of the bed and looked at the tickets after picking them up.

  “She wasn’t here to escape London,” he said.

  “No,” said Frances. “She was here to meet someone. And it doesn’t look like she was from London either. Do you know Bletchley at all, Inspector?”

  DCI Milling was looking down at the tickets in his hand. He shook his head.

  “Not particularly,” he said. “It’s the train station in Milton Keynes, isn’t it? Passed through it a few times on my way to London.”

  “Yes, quite right,” said Frances.

  “Quite odd though,” he said.

  “What is?” asked Frances.

  “Well, why say you’re from London if you’re really from Milton Keynes. Why be so opaque about that?”

  “Perhaps she didn’t want to have to explain late last night.”

  “But surely most would know Milton Keynes, especially if you’ve taken the train to London. Elmer,” said DCI Milling. Elmer looked over at him. “Do you know of Milton Keynes?”

  Elmer nodded.

  “I do, though I’ve never visited. Is this important?”

  DCI Milling shook his head.

  “You see. No explanation necessary. So why keep it a secret?”

  “You make a good point, Inspector,” said Frances.

  And although she knew about Bletchley Park, though not in detail, it was a secret and not hers to tell. Indeed, she had to sign the Official Secrets Act in order to be told even the smallest details about the secret work being performed there.

  “Does your wife clean the rooms?” asked Frances, looking at Elmer.

  “Yes, she does, but only if the door is unlocked. We tell guests that if the door is locked then we won’t enter it. If they require clean linens or a clean of their room they’re asked to leave their doors unlocked.”

  “And does your wife lock them after she’s been in?”

  “Most certainly. We’re all very trustworthy around here but some people might have valuable items about and we can’t afford an incident.”

  “So we don’t know if Mary’s door was locked by your wife after she cleaned it or if it was locked by Mary and your wife hasn’t entered it then.”

  Elmer nodded.

  “I can go and ask her,” he said.

  “Not to worry, Elmer, we’ll be down to interview everyone shortly,” said Frances.

  Frances looked down at the bottom shelf or compartment of the night table. It held a small assortment of magazines. They were neatly stacked up against the side and looked undisturbed.

  Turning around Frances faced the dressing table. It was narrow and covered with a long rectangular doily of the same pattern as the one she had seen on the night table. There was a small padded stool in front of it and on top of the dressing table against the wall was a small rectangular mirror no bigger than about 2 and a half feet by 2 feet. On top of the dressing table on the right side was a small wooden jewelry box. Frances opened it to find it empty. Nothing else was on top of the dressing table. As if awkwardly self conscious about it Elmer spoke.

  “We don’t provide any hair brushes or makeup options for our guests,” he said.

  “No, I wouldn't imagine so,” said Frances.

  On each side of the stool was a single drawer. In the right drawer was a small handheld silver mirror. In the left was a small pad of paper which looked like a couple of sheets had been torn from it. There was also a pencil inside that rolled around loosely as she opened the drawer. Frances took the pad out and looked at it. There were no impressions on the face of the top sheet of paper. To Frances this meant only one of two things. Either the paper torn from this pad hadn’t been used to write on or the paper had been written on after having been torn from the pad.

  DCI Milling ran his finger over the top of the pad, noticing the same lack of impressions.

  “The paper wasn’t written on,” he said to Frances.

  “Or it was written on after being torn from the pad.”

  He looked at her and raised his eyebrows.

  “Quite odd,” he said.

  “Why would you take some paper from a pad if not to write on it?” asked Frances.

  “To catch an insect perhaps and let it free,” said DCI Milling. “Though in earnestness, this pad looks remarkably similar to the note she gave to Elmer, though that was quite crumpled up.”

  “Let us be sure,” said Frances. “Alfred, could you have one of the bobbies get Mary’s note for us, please?”

  Frances looked at DCI Milling. He nodded, and Alfred left the room.

  “I’d like to be sure it’s from this pad,” said Frances.

  “And how will that help?”

  “It will perhaps inform us that the second sheet might be of equal importance and not just used to let errant insects out of the room.”

  DCI Milling grinned at her.

  SEVEN

  Out of the Closet

  DS Fox returned with a full sized envelope in his hand followed by Alfred. Lady Marmalade was looking out of the small window. It wasn’t the best view. If you craned your neck and looked to the left you could see a sliver of lake over the tops of the pens and barn. Most of the view was of the back of the farm with pens and the barn off to the left and a dirt road entering the farm and joining the road that everyone had recently parked on.

  Frances turned around to see DCI Milling take the envelope from DS Fox and order him back downstairs to keep an eye on the witnesses. Though Frances hardly thought any of them would end up being witnesses to the actual crime. DS Fox looked crestfallen as he left. DCI Milling took out the crumpled sheet which had obviously been straightened out before it had been put in the envelope. It was wrinkled into all sorts of geometric shapes upon its face.

  Frances walked up to DCI Milling as he lay the sheet out on top of the pad. As both DCI Milling and Elmer had suggested, there was just a jumble of letters in several rows. No gaps or punctuation. It was most certainly a cipher, but of what kind Frances wasn’t certain. Ciphers were not her strong suit. But with Mary hiding the fact that she came in from Bletchley, or more to the point, most likely Bletchley Park, Frances was certain this was a cryptic message of sorts and likely a key piece of evidence in determining what happened to the poor girl.

  The crumpled note with the cryptic letters upon it matched up cleanly with the tear that was the first tear from the pad.

  “It matches,” said DCI Milling.

  “Agreed,” said Frances. “Which makes finding that second piece of paper all the more important.”

  It could be a continuation of the message or something else. Either way it was bound to be important. DCI Milling lifted up the narrow torn portion of the pad’s first sheet and folded it back. He then lay the crumpled note up against the second narrow torn sheet on the pad. It did not match.

  “Certainly this was written on the first sheet,” he said. “We are looking for the second sheet now.”

  Frances took the pencil out of the drawer and scribbled on the clean sheet on the top of the pad. She compared it to the pencil used on the crumpled piece of paper that held the cipher. It appeared to be a match.

  “Seems as though she used this pencil rather than another one. Though that’s not certain.”

  DCI Milling nodded in agreement.

  Frances turned to Elmer. Just behind him was a dark chestnut colored wardrobe, the same color as the other furniture in this room.

  “Is this your pad and pencil?” she asked, pointing at the pad and pencil that were now on top of the dressing table. He nodded.

  “Yes, we leave a pad of paper and a pencil in the dressing table dr
awer for all of our guests. Many find it quite helpful for jotting down notes or lists.”

  Frances nodded. She bent down on one knee and peered under the bed. There was nothing underneath it, though it could use a sweep. She got up again.

  “What did her suitcase look like?” she asked.

  Elmer measured it out with his hands.

  “Oh, I’d say about a foot and half by about a foot. Not much bigger than a schoolboy’s school case. It’s light brown in color.”

  “It’s likely in the wardrobe,” said DCI Milling, as he walked over towards it as Elmer and Alfred moved out of the way.

  The wardrobe had two long rectangular doors on the front of it with little round brass knobs. The bottom of the wardrobe was a long drawer that took up the width of the armoire. It was opened with two brass handles that were loosely joined to the front so that they could swivel or lie flat as needed. DCI Milling didn’t bother with the drawer, he opened up the two rectangular doors. Inside, on the bottom of the wardrobe was the suitcase in question. At the top of the inside cabinet was a rod holding a few hangers. None of which held any clothes.

  DCI Milling was about to take the suitcase out of the wardrobe when Frances stopped him.

  “Perhaps there might be fingerprints we should preserve,” she said, offering him her scarf.

  “I wouldn’t worry about the handle,” he answered, “they’d probably be smudged in any event.”

  He took the suitcase out of the wardrobe and laid it on the bed without using Frances’ scarf. The compartment was now empty. Frances bent down and to be thorough she opened up the drawer. That too was empty so she closed it again. She joined DCI Milling at the side of the bed upon which lay the suitcase.

  “Is it heavy?” she asked.

  “Not at all. Hardly anything in it, I should imagine.”

  Around the handle where DCI Milling had certainly smudged the fingerprints by now, was a tag tied with twine. DCI Milling turned it over so that they could read it. Next to the “Name:” field was “Mary Sorrows”. The line next to the “Address:” field was left blank.

  “Can I have a look at that cryptic crumpled note Inspector?” asked Frances.

  DCI Milling handed her the folder and she took out the crumpled note. She held it close to the tag to compare the writing. All the letters on the note were in capital letters. Only the ‘M’ and the ’S’ on the tag from the suitcase were in capital letters. However, Frances was lucky. There was a capital M and S in the cryptic letters and it appeared that both were written by the same hand.

  “Looks to be the same hand,” said DCI Milling.

  “I agree,” said Frances.

  In the front of the suitcase were two brass clasps that held the lid closed. They were simple clasps with a button that looked like it was slid away from the center of the suitcase. The suitcase itself was in reasonably good shape for something that had obviously seen a lot of use.

  “Do you mind if we take a look at the bottom?” asked Frances.

  The top and front of it were plain. As were the sides as Frances peered along them. Not that she was expecting anything different. But in an investigation, thoroughness was the order of the day however pedestrian it might be. DCI Milling turned the suitcase over. It too was plain and unremarkable other than showing some scuffs from everyday use.

  “Are you looking for something particular?” he asked.

  Frances shook her head. “No, not particularly. I just like to be thorough.”

  DCI Milling nodded and turned it back to right side up just using the brown handle.

  “There are most certainly to be fingerprints on the clasps,” said Frances. “I should very much hope to preserve those.”

  DCI Milling smiled and looked at her.

  “I am way ahead of you,” he said, pulling a clean, white handkerchief from his trouser pocket. He used this as a barrier between his fingers and the clasp as he pushed the button away from himself and the clasp’s hook ejected from the base’s grip with a surprisingly energetic release for this suitcase. He undid the other one and opened up the lid with the handkerchief. Everyone was craning over each other to get a look inside.

  The contents of the suitcase were in disarray after having been jostled about from the turning over of the suitcase from before. This was in spite of the elasticized tie-downs that were still secured inside the suitcase. Frances and DCI Milling inspected the contents. DCI Milling deferred to Frances as she took each item out of the suitcase and placed it on the side of the bed next to the suitcase. Alfred was taking notes of what was found. Frances took out the contents using her scarf. This wasn’t particularly necessary except for the hairbrush which had a silver handle. It would likely have fingerprints on it, and most probably Mary Sorrows’, but she was careful, having learned the error of having destroyed fingerprints before.

  Inside the suitcase as she emptied it was a change of underwear including a bra. There was a cream colored cardigan and a toiletry bag. Inside the toiletry bag was the hairbrush as mentioned, a toothbrush with its head covered in plastic, and a purse.

  The purse was small and olive green. Frances opened it up and found several shillings, a threepence, a twopence and some pennies. Less than a pound’s worth of money. In the inside compartment Frances pulled out an identification card. On the left of the card was Mary Sorrows’ black and white photograph, half covered with a Royal Navy seal. Across from the image on the right half of the identification card was “HMS Pembroke V”. Below that read “Second Officer Telegraphist Minnie Shelford”, and below that was her date of birth “23 June, 1912”.

  Below that was government legalese explaining that the identification was the property of His Majesty’s Government and it also gave the physical address of HMS Pembroke V which was in Eastcote in the northwest of London in the Borough of Hillingdon. Frances was familiar with it though she had never been in. Frances turned over the back of the card and found it was empty. DCI Milling frowned at the card for a moment as Frances passed it to him.

  “I suppose she was telling the truth about one thing,” he said.

  “And that is?”

  “That she was from London. HMS Pembroke V is in London.”

  That part was obvious from the identification.

  “But why lie about her name?” asked DCI Milling, not really speaking to anyone in particular.

  “That is the mystery,” said Frances. “I’m sure if we find that part out we might be closer to finding out who the killer is.”

  DCI Milling nodded.

  “It is curious that she chose the same initials for her pseudonym.”

  DCI Milling nodded again.

  “Yes, I suppose so.”

  In the same fold that the identification card had been found, Frances pulled out a folded piece of paper. This had been hiding behind the identification card. It was of the same type of paper as the crumpled cipher note, only this one was pristine. Frances opened it. What was written on it was written in what appeared to be the same sort of pencil as the cipher note.

  “Lady Frances - , If you have this then it seems the worst has happened to me. Please find the answers in the note.”

  It was signed off “MS”.

  “Perhaps she was trying to say Marmalade when Elmer found her,” offered DCI Milling.

  “It appears you would be right, Inspector,” said Frances. She looked over at Alfred. “But no one knew I was coming up here, did they?”

  “No, my Lady. Just your staff at Marmalade Park and your children. That is all.”

  Frances nodded.

  “Then how could she have known. I don’t know this woman at all.”

  “If I could be so bold, my Lady, perhaps when we have the answer to that we’ll be closer to knowing who killed her,” said DCI Milling.

  Frances smiled at him.

  “Quite right,” she said. “But why leave such an unenlightened note?”

  “The answers it would seem are in the cipher text,” said DCI Milling.r />
  “I’m sure there is a reason, my Lady, for why she has chosen to leave this message for you in such an opaque manner,” said Alfred.

  Frances nodded, looking at the purse which was now empty except for the coins which she had not emptied. The rest of the suitcase was also empty.

  “She did travel light,” said DCI Milling, as he put everything back into the suitcase. “But then she was only up for the night, wasn’t she?”

  DCI Milling turned to Elmer. Elmer nodded.

  “That’s what she told me.”

  “And she didn’t say she was here to see anyone, did she?”

  Elmer shook his head.

  “No, Inspector. Like I said. She said she’d come up to escape the discord of London.”

  “So she was from London, and yet she came up from Bletchley. I wonder why that is?” asked DCI Milling to nobody in particular.

  “Perhaps she was visiting family or friends,” answered Frances, offering no more by way of explanation.

  EIGHT

  The Roundtable

  DOWNSTAIRS everyone was waiting quietly. You wouldn’t expect such quiet from a group of strangers, and yet the murder of a young woman had silenced them. This was not uncommon. DCI Milling came down behind Elmer carrying the suitcase. He handed it to Constable Ernest Swales with instructions to put it in the car as evidence. He left quickly through the main door.

  The married couple, Richard and Myrtle Meakin were on the couch and the Frenchman was on the settee. Everyone had a cup of tea in front of them and Elmer’s wife, Pearl, sat with her squat figure on the edge of a chair at the long rectangular table.

  “We’ll be interviewing everyone separately,” said DCI Milling, “is there a more private area for such a purpose?”

  “I think the kitchen might do,” said Elmer, leading them into the kitchen.

  The kitchen was a moderately sized room with a large wooden stove that was giving off generous heat. There was a large counter in the middle and plenty of cupboards. In one corner, opposite the stove was a small round table with four wooden chairs. Elmer pointed at it.