The Golf, Cheese and Chess Society

by Jason Blacker

  “He came out about 7 and he was doing his morning chores when he came upon her about a half hour later he thinks.”

  “And this is how he found her?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And did you or he move her?” asked Brimley.

  “No, sir.”

  “Did you touch her at all?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Good.”

  Brimley kneeled down next to the dead body and started to investigate it. He rifled through her pockets and found nothing other than some gum, clean tissue and loose coins. He pulled the rope away from her neck. The burns were severe and welted. Whoever did this used a lot of strength. Most likely a man.

  The way Pelagia lay on the damp grass just under this crop of trees, you’d be forgiven for thinking that she had fallen asleep picnicking if you hadn’t come close enough to see the carnage.

  Brimley lifted up her skirt and noticed that she was still properly clothed underneath with her underwear, though it was soiled. McBurney looked around uncomfortably. Brimley picked up her handbag which was with her. He stood up and looked through it. There was her purse inside with her BP ID and some paper and coin money. There was some woman’s makeup inside including a lipstick, and what he thought was called rouge, in a box with a mirror on the opening lid. There were also a few stamps and a couple of keys, and a receipt from a local pub. He closed the handbag and handed it to McBurney.

  “What do you think, Captain?” he asked.

  The young lad had a notebook out flipped to blank pages. He hadn’t been writing anything down for some time. He was using his notes to refer back to what he might have written when interviewing the farmer.

  “Um, are you asking me how she died?”

  “Yes. I’m asking what you think happened. How was she murdered, and why? Do you have any thoughts?”

  “Well, uh, clearly she was strangled with that rope. I imagine that must have killed her. I’d think it was done early this morning. Probably before sunrise.”

  That was all that McBurney could come up with. He might have been the Captain of the police for BP, but that had been given to him more as a courtesy. He had no real police training or experience. As far as he was concerned, this was supposed to be a plum posting letting him sit through the war. His mother had organized it that way. I mean, for God’s sake, who knew about Bletchley Park? Not many, and those who did all worked for the government. That’s what he was told. And amongst the several reasons Bletchley Park was chosen was because the villagers here were well-mannered and docile. There hadn’t been a murder in Bletchley Park since, well, never. At least not since records had been kept.

  Brimley was still looking at him. McBurney had started to stare out over the fields towards the farmhouse.

  “Uh, perhaps it was sexually motivated, sir,” said McBurney, trying to be more helpful. His notebook was still open and held at waist height by his hands. Brimley nodded at the young captain with a raised eyebrow.

  “You haven’t done this sort of thing before, have you?” he asked.

  McBurney gave out a nervous laugh.

  “Uh, no sir. Is it that obvious?”

  “Who is this woman?”

  “Her name, sir?”

  “No, Captain, you already gave me her name. Who is she around here? What does she do?”

  “Oh yes, quite. She’s one of Dilly's Fillies as they’re known. In fact she leads one of his teams. They translate the texts that have been decrypted. Sometimes they help with the decryption.”

  “I see. Does Dilly know about this?”

  “No sir, nobody has been told yet. But word does get around quickly.”

  “Who did Mr. Smalley tell?”

  “I believe he came straight to me, sir. I interviewed him out here by the body. I had my sergeant call for you and here we are.”

  “Here we are,” said Brimley.

  “Yes sir, it was a good thing you were up here visiting this morning.”

  Brimley nodded absentmindedly. He was up here to see how the decryption was going. There had been some recent losses at sea and the government wasn’t happy about it. Now he’d be investigating the murder of a woman at Bletchley. This could open up a whole can of worms he’d rather keep closed.

  “Let’s keep this as quiet as we can, Captain. I don’t have to tell you that there is important work being done here and it would be incumbent upon us not to upset the apple cart if you understand.”

  “Oh yes, sir.”

  “Good. Keep an eye on the body until the coroner gets here to remove it. I assume you’ve called them already from MK?”

  “Um, no sir, I forgot.”

  “Then that’s your job to do, Captain. Get the coroner up here. We don’t want the body to start rotting as the sun comes up. Already it’s starting to stink.”

  “Yes, sir,” McBurney turned towards his barracks. “Do you know what happened, sir? How she died?”

  “It likely happened late last night and not this morning. Her bowels have let go and she wasn’t sexually assaulted. So this is about something different. The rest remains to be seen.”

  McBurney started off.

  “Captain.”

  He turned back around.

  “If you’re going back to your offices to call the coroner, you might as well take the evidence to keep so that we don’t have to get it from them. Take her handbag and the loose items from her pockets.”

  McBurney gathered up the items, and silently reprimanded himself for not having taken the initiative on it. He told his sergeant to guard the body and he left towards the barracks where his office was. Brimley looked down one more time at the body.

  This whole thing smelt foul and not just because the body was rotting. No, if this woman had been murdered here at BP, that meant that it had something to do with BP. And he was afraid of what he might start uncovering when he started to investigate how this was all connected. If BP had been compromised then that was very bad news for the war.

  SEVENTEEN

  The Dead, Damp Dame

  MR. Smalley’s farmhouse was a good few minutes stroll from where Brimley had left the body. He knew Mr. and Mrs. Smalley. They didn’t seem like the type to commit such an act. If Brimley was being honest with himself, then he’d have to acknowledge knowing, at least rudimentarily, pretty much everyone attached to BP in some manner. Everyone within a five mile radius of Bletchley Park had been investigated to some degree before they’d opened up shop. Though Brimley was not as enamored with the depth of the investigating in some quarters.

  The morning was brisk and the sun was strong and steady. He doubted it would rain today. But in a metaphorical manner it had already rained on his parade. He’d only arrived a couple of hours ago and this was going to have to take his full attention until it was solved, and there was nobody else to take it over from him. As MI5’s Gate Keeper at Bletchley Park he was the senior man on duty and Box 500 would lean on him for a swift and thorough resolution to this matter at hand.

  Arriving at the Smalley’s farmhouse door, it did occur to him that perhaps, if he was lucky, this was nothing more than an attempted rape gone bad. Ms. Paterson, with one T, as McBurney had informed him, had been at the local pub. Perhaps a local lout had followed her home hoping to get to know her better. Things had turned sour and this lout being inebriated had tried to force himself on her but before he could he was scared off by something. But not before having murdered her.

  Brimley shook his head ruefully. Who was he kidding? That’s what hopes were made of, unicorns and rainbows. No, this was more sinister. He could feel it in his stomach.

  Brimley knocked on the door. He didn’t have to wait long. A fat man with twinkling, watery eyes in a round face and ruddy complexion opened the door. He was about Brimley’s height. Smalley nodded and smiled.

  “Mr. Brimley. How are the grounds looking?” he asked.

  “That’s what I’ve come to speak with you about Herbert.”

  “Oh, I see.
Please come in.”

  Brimley entered the home and was taken into the living area. It was small and cozy and just as you’d imagine a living room in a cottage to be. He had not been in the Smalley’s residence before. Smalley and his wife managed a small cattle operation. Perhaps fifty or so head, more or less. Most of the area outside the buildings and barracks of Bletchley Park was pastoral. A walk from here to the mansion was about 7 or 8 minutes. Mrs. Smalley came in from the kitchen to see who was visiting.

  “Oh, hello Mr. Brimley,” she said.

  She was practically a carbon copy of her husband in looks but not in height. She was a few inches shorter. Both were happy and jovial sorts. Icons of an idyllic pastoral life if you will.

  “Penny, nice to see you again, though not under these circumstances of course.”

  “Herb was just telling me about it. Awful business, Mr. Brimley.”

  “Please call me Walter,” he said. Walt was a name he only enjoyed on the tongues of his closest colleagues and friends.

  “Let me get us some tea ready. You must be parched.”

  Brimley and Mr. Smalley sat awkwardly for a moment in silence as Penny went back into the kitchen to make tea.

  “How are the cattle doing?” asked Brimley.

  “We had eight calves this season. Quite busy right now as you can imagine. They’re all doing well though and suckling on the cows. We had hoped for ten but we’ll take eight.”

  “The government isn’t giving you too much trouble then with the size of the herd?” asked Brimley.

  He knew that the bigger cattle ranches had been ordered to cut back. It was a difficult management during the war. Everybody wanted their meat, of course, but cattle grazed on a lot of land that could best be used to grow vegetables and other plant foods to feed the population. The government was trying to see if the UK could feed itself from its own lands. Studies had suggested it was possible, but only with a great curtailment in the ranching and eating of beef. Not just beef either. Pigs, lambs, and even chickens had to be cut back on. But then again during war, everyone needed to make sacrifices.

  “They’ve told me not to go over fifty head. These eight calves put me at forty-eight. That’s why I would have liked ten. Additionally, twelve will be off to slaughter come summer. Next year I’ll need a dozen or more to make up for the shortfall. I used to like ranching, Walter, not anymore. Thinking of maybe getting back into groundskeeping like yourself when the war’s over.”

  Brimley nodded his head.

  “Groundskeeping has its challenges, but it’s certainly easier than ranching, I should imagine. Though I’ve never ranched.”

  “Don’t do it,” said Herbert, chuckling good naturedly.

  “What about farming?”

  Herbert thought about it for a moment.

  “Could be done, I suppose. Wheat mostly on this soil, I should think. But I wonder if that’s just me hopping from the frying pan into the fire.”

  He laughed again and he had a contagious laugh that made Brimley smile.

  “I’m not a young man anymore, Walter.”

  That was true. Walter put him in his mid fifties. About ten years older than he was. You’d be forgiven for thinking the man was in his sixties though. Clinking and tinkling of cups and saucers could be heard from the kitchen and soon after Penny came in carrying a tray with tea and scones. There was an abundance of butter and clotted cream which Brimley was surprised at. It must have shown on his face.

  “We have a little agreement with the dairy farmers a couple of farms over,” said Herbert, blading his mouth with his hand as though this was some great secret. It wasn’t. The government was well aware of secret deals amongst farmers and others and they generally turned a blind eye to it.

  “Your secret is safe with me,” said Walter. “As long as I might help myself to your largesse.”

  He grinned at them and Herbert smiled and nodded agreeably. Walter had eaten only a small breakfast in London this morning and looking at these scones made his mouth water. He leaned in and helped himself. First a good dollop of jam on the warm scone and then a bigger dollop of cream on top. Penny was pouring tea which he took with milk and sugar.

  He put his teacup on the side table by the chair he was sitting on. He took one half of the scone and ate half of it in one bite. He waited until both Penny and Herbert had served themselves. By the time Herbert looked up at him, the one half of scone was already in his stomach.

  “I wanted to speak to you about this awful business we found on your property,” said Brimley.

  Smalley knitted his eyebrows and shook his head sorrowfully.

  “What a lovely woman,” he said.

  Penny nodded in agreement.

  “Just lovely. And her poor son, he will be terribly upset I’m sure. Now he’s lost both his mother and father.”

  “This is Pelagia Paterson?” asked Brimley.

  Herbert nodded.

  “How long had she stayed with you?”

  Herbert looked over at his wife.

  “I think it would be coming up on three years, wouldn’t it?”

  Penny nodded.

  “Yes. Next month, middle of June she started boarding with us.”

  “She lived here alone with you?”

  Herbert shook his head.

  “No, one of her colleagues boarded with us too. Minnie Shelford.”

  “I see. Is she here?”

  “No, come to think of it. She’s been gone since Saturday, hasn’t she, Penny?”

  Penny nodded.

  “That’s right, Herb. Said she was going up north to visit family for the weekend. Said she should be back by Monday, but we haven’t seen her. I hope nothing awful has happened to her.”

  Herbert looked over at Walter.

  “Why’s he got you, the groundskeeper, asking us these questions?”

  Walter shrugged. This was where his cover might become more of a hinderance than he had imagined. Being a groundskeeper was an inconspicuous job so long as you weren’t investigating murders. Nobody pays much attention to groundskeepers. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. He never expected to be dealing with a murder up here. He had to tread carefully on this.

  “I think he wanted to give me something to do you know. Awful seeing her like that. I thought I might lose my breakfast. He suggested I come and speak to you about it. I think he was trying to get rid of me. I’ve always fancied myself as a bit of a sleuth you know. Ever since reading those Jack Danger books in my youth.”

  Herbert smiled and nodded.

  “Well, I think you’re doing a great job.”

  Brimley smiled in gratitude.

  “I hope you’ll play along with me then. There might be something helpful you could offer that I could take back to Captain McBurney.”

  “Anything we can do, Walter, to help you.”

  “Did you report Ms. Shelford’s missing whereabouts to anyone at her work?”

  “No. Our boarders are grown women and we generally leave them be. They work odd hours you know. Long hours sometimes and it’s not uncommon for us not to see them for some days on end. Wouldn’t you agree, Penny?”

  Penny nodded her head as she bit into a scone, slathered even more generously than Brimley had done his.

  “And between you and me, Walter, those muckety-mucks up there seem quite high and mighty about themselves. I guess they think they’ve got important work to do. They hardly ever have time for even the smallest courtesies.”

  Brimley put a grin on his face that didn’t fit right, but Herbert bought it.

  “I know all about that,” said Brimley. “I’m sure they’ll find out all about it now.”

  “Do they know how she was murdered?” asked Penny.

  “It appears she was strangled. When was the last time you saw her?”

  “She popped in for a quick dinner at about 6pm last night,” said Penny. “I had put some soup on the stove and she had a quick bite of that. She changed and then said she was going
down to the pub to meet someone. She made it sound like it was a secret. Maybe a young man she fancied.”

  “That was the impression you got?”

  Penny nodded and ate the rest of her scone.

  “You didn’t ask any further questions about it?”

  Penny shook her head.

  “No, we don’t like to pry. The girls are very secretive as it is. I thought that if she wanted to tell me she would.”

  Brimley nodded. This was the part that was going to make this case even harder. Everyone up here at BP was sworn to secrecy due to the nature of the work, of course. But it tended to spill over into their lives. They tended to be closed books about their social lives too.

  “She was going to the Snow and Stone then, was she?”

  Penny nodded.

  “I should think so, that’s the most popular pub here, isn’t it?”

  “What time did she leave?”

  “I should think she was out of the house by 7pm.”

  “And she wasn’t married. You said she had a late husband?” asked Brimley.

  “Yes, poor woman. He died a few years ago at the beginning of the war. I suppose that’s why she came up here to work. To provide for her son.”

  “And do you know his name?”

  “Sebastian.”

  “How old is he?”

  “I think he’s about sixteen now. She said he was writing his Standard Certificate at the end of the year. She was very proud of him. You could tell. It was the one topic she’d always speak freely about.”

  “And where is Sebastian?”

  “He’s at Rugby School, a boarding school from what I’m told, at Rugby obviously. She wanted him safely away from the bombing in the large cities. She said there was a good chance he’d be going to Oxford next year.”

  Brimley knitted his eyebrows together. That was an extremely rare opportunity.

  “He must be exceptionally bright then,” said Brimley, “usually Oxford requires the Higher School Certificate.”

  Penny shrugged.

  “We don’t know much about that,” said Herbert. “Penny and I never got our School Certificates even, did we?”

  Penny shook her head.

  “I came to work on the farm as soon as I was sixteen.”