Goodnight gazed in stunned silence.
“As you’ve requested, top brass have been called in. Still, it’s your patch Goodnight, your investigation. But consultation with Mrs. Elliott is a must. She’s not police, but she’s a bloodhound in tracking down the truth.”
Berdie feared the bulging veins on Goodnight’s neck might bust.
The constable picked up the nearby toast and jam. He scrunched it so tightly in his hand that his fist went white. Strawberry jam oozed through his fingers. He pushed away from the desk and stood with such force, the chair he sat in knocked against the window behind. “Is that all?” he asked Chief Inspector Jasper Kent.
“I believe so, Albert.”
Constable Goodnight nodded towards the door. “Don’t let me keep you.”
“Yes, well, I appreciate your time. Indeed, must push on,” Jasper said.
“Yes,” Berdie added. “Thank you, Albert.”
With that, Berdie and the Scotland Yard inspector exited Goodnight’s room and dashed from his humble dwelling.
“Inspector Kent,” Berdie called after the departing investigator.
The gentleman opened the door of an awaiting car, a driver in attendance.
“Thank you, you’re a miracle answer to prayer, you know.”
Jasper Kent smiled. “Tell my wife that. And Berdie, come to the big smoke. Ring up Billy Beaton in records if you want to know about that London spider case. Nothing official, mind you.”
Berdie laid her finger aside her nose. “Nothing official,” she repeated.
The inspector winked. He entered the car, closed the door, and took off like a London cabby.
“The big smoke,” Berdie repeated. “Nothing like London in the spring. The scent of oily streets and diesel fumes mixes quite delightfully with investigating foul play.” Berdie felt a great excitement run through her body. “Billy Beaton will be getting a call within the hour.”
****
“I feel like a spy.” Lillie tittled like an over-excited school girl.
“Nothing really spy about it,” Berdie corrected. “It’s simply an alfresco repast to meet a friend I called yesterday. We’ll be better informed for solving crime, all above board.”
Glancing about Trafalgar Square, Berdie was glad the morning train ride was behind her and Lillie. The Square was its usual afternoon self. The area was encumbered with gawking tourists holding brochures, adoring Nelson’s column, and dipping fingers in the huge fountains. They were joined by local residents relishing an out of doors lunch from busy city offices, and a few disenfranchised youth who were sprinkled about the crowd as well. Cars, lorries, buses, both single and double-deckers, whizzed about on the streets surrounding the massive pedestrian area.
“What time is he supposed to be here?” Lillie asked Berdie, glancing at her watch.
“Half past one, as I’ve told you ten times already, Lillie. It’s gone only five minutes past, he’ll arrive soon.”
Lillie shifted her seated weight and scrunched her nose. “This bench is hard on the bum, you know.”
“More of a problem for you than I.” Berdie half grinned. “One of the few times that possessing a natural rear cushion is a plus. Stand if you wish.”
She glanced about while Lillie stood. “I told him we’d be near the tritons at the fountain’s edge.”
“There’s two fountains.” Lillie pointed out the obvious.
“True, but very near each other, and it’s not been a problem in the past.”
“How often have you done this?” Lillie sounded extremely curious.
“Ah, I see him,” Berdie chirped. Lillie seated herself quickly. “Just there, about two o’clock.” Berdie indicated by the nod of her head.
Lillie craned her neck.
Berdie described the fellow. “Medium height, average build, sandy brown close cut hair, glasses, dark green sport coat.”
“Looks as if he’s the cat that just ate the budgie?” Lillie asked, eyes focused.
“You’ve spotted him then.” Berdie discreetly lifted her chin and the gentleman made his way to seat himself at her side.
“Berdie, dear,” he greeted in a muted voice. “It seems donkey’s years.”
“Hello, Billy.” Berdie bounced the words.
“I understand you have a new vocation.” Billy grinned. “A shepherdess of the church.”
Berdie nodded. “And you, Billy Beaton, are still gatekeeper for reams of villainous information stored in the depths of the department.”
“Don’t let her new vocation fool you.” Lillie entered the conversation. “She’s still in the hunt.”
“Billy, this is my colleague, Lillie Foxworth.”
Billy scanned Lillie’s face.
“As discreet as the length of day in July,” Berdie assured.
Billie grinned and nodded towards Lillie. He placed a Sainsbury’s carrier bag he had toted close to himself. “I spoke to Kent after you rang me.”
Berdie opened the cooler bag she had carried with her. She retrieved a cling wrapped sandwich and handed it to Billy.
“You remembered.” Billy sounded cheerful.
How could she forget? If Billy was a can, sliced ham sandwiches were the tin opener. “Sliced ham. Your very favorite.”
The clerk unwrapped the sandwich as he spoke. “Right to it then. Brazilian Wandering Spiders.”
“And their victims,” Berdie added.
“Are they really from Brazil?” Lillie interjected.
“Jungle forests, north Brazil, south Venezuela.” Billy took a bite of the sliced ham. “Umm.” He closed his eyes as if to savor the contents of his palette without distraction and began to chew. His glasses moved up and down with the chewing motion while his thin eyebrows held high. “Smoked, dressed with salad cream, bits of celery,” he said as if diagnosing a wine’s bouquet.
“Right,” Berdie quipped.
His eyes popped open, once again re-entering the business he was about. “This spider wanders you see, no webs, holes, just wanders the moist dark forest floor and pounces its prey. Creatures as big as mice mind you, paralyzes them, and dinners on.” Billy took another large bite of sandwich.
Lillie looked a bit wan as she blinked.
“Lethal.” Berdie gave Billy a paper napkin.
“Not always with humans.” He used the napkin to wipe his mouth. “Don’t like humans really, but if disturbed or agitated, well, fight not flight.” Billy continued to chew.
“Could these spiders just have been a scare tactic?”
“I can think of less lethal creatures that could accomplish fright. No, deadly is deadly.”
“Illegal to purchase in this country, I should think.”
“Probably gotten through a pets black market.” Billy nodded and wiped his hand on the napkin.
“Pets?” Lillie squirmed.
“Probably?” Berdie forged ahead.
“All right. Yes, we had a trail, but it dried up. Economy’s down you know. Less market for the exotica sorts.” The clerk swallowed and took another bite. “One black marketer goes down, another pops up.” He shrugged.
“And the victim in the London case?” Berdie mentally took notes. “What can you tell me?”
“Female, lived in council housing, picked up bits and bobs of work, single. Apparently, no real enemies. Even fewer friends.” Billy wadded the sandwich cling wrap into a ball. “What an epitaph.”
“So no suspects?”
“Not really. Checked out a former employer with whom she had an apparent dust up. He was clean. No real motive. Not much of a pursuit after that. Finally decided it was a random prank or the wrong address.”
“I don’t believe that for a minute. Random prank.” Berdie pursed her lips. “A pressure ridden law enforcement agency with bigger fish to fry, more like.”
“Can’t disagree with you there.” Billy nodded.
Lillie frowned. “Is that just?”
Billy drew back his shoulders and looked Lillie right in
the eye. “Who said anything about just? It is what it is.”
Berdie’s jaw grew taught, but she worked at remaining calm. “This woman, she has a name?”
“In the paperwork.” Billy wiped his lips with the napkin.
“Well, she may have been a faceless victim to some, but she was still a someone in God’s economy. She deserves better.”
Billy chortled. “You’re going to go after this like a dog to a bone, and you’re going to gnaw it to a nib, aren’t you?”
“Does Monday follow Sunday?”
Billy shook his head and gave a long sigh. “You always had more scruples than ten put together.” He pushed the Sainsbury’s carrier bag discreetly to Berdie. Several papers were just visible inside. “Nothing that isn’t public record, really.”
Berdie handed the cooler bag of sandwiches to Billy. “I’d eat the lot within twenty four hours.”
Billy nodded and took the bag. “I always enjoy doing business with you, Berdie.” He stood and nodded to Lillie. “Must push off.”
Berdie caught Billy’s hand. “Thanks, Billy. This information could be incredibly important.” She released her grasp. “God’s speed.”
“Cheers,” he answered and then added, “now go preserve justice.” With that, he joined the throng that moved along and blended in like a moment of time to the hour.
Lillie looked after him. “A rather odd fellow.”
“Um, good chap really. He loves his sliced ham.” She was already fingering through the papers in the bag. “Her name was Wanda Pitts. Don your walking shoes, Lillie. We’re going to do a visit.”
“Visit whom?” Lillie puzzled.
“One Joby Weston, neighbor to the deceased. He reported her missing. Yes, well, we’ll visit if he still lives at the same address and if he’s willing to speak to two complete strangers.”
“Doesn’t sound promising.” Lillie arose discreetly rubbing her posterior.
“And the Red Sea didn’t seem promising to the Israelites at first glance either, Lillie. But they walked across on dry land.”
“OK, Moses,” Lillie quipped while Berdie stood. “But, I do not want to wander in the wilderness for forty years or past tea for that matter.”
Getting to the council estate where Wanda Pitts had once lived, among others with housing assistance needs, was as simple as a ride on the Underground. The subterranean transit system was quick and efficient. But once there, it required a great deal of wandering through concrete hallways, not desert sands. All of it done to locate the residence of the singular source of information concerning Wanda Pitts, Joby Weston.
Finding that the lift in the tower block where Joby reportedly lived was out of order, Berdie and Lillie climbed nine flights of littered stairs that smelled of mixed spices, stale brew, and sweaty socks. It left Berdie panting and Lillie trying to catch her breath.
Two youths passed by, clad in island gear with colorful knitted caps. Berdie called after them, giving in to tired feet. “Excuse me, gentlemen.” She smiled.
The two turned to look behind them as if trying to spy the gentlemen. Then they looked at each other. “Yeah,” one of them offered while the other one chuckled.
“We want,” Berdie took a big gulp of air, “number eighty-seven.” She let out a slow exhale.
Lillie clutched her handbag to her chest.
“You law?” The young man lifted his chin.
“With the church, actually,” Berdie returned without waver.
The young man raised his eyebrows, as if quite surprised and grinned. “Yeah? Keep going, bottom of the hall.” He turned and continued on, his friend laughing rather loudly.
“Was that wise?” Lillie huffed.
“We know where we’re going now, don’t we?” Berdie began a move down the hallway.
“This is a bit rough,” Lillie observed when they reached the dilapidated door of number eighty-seven.
“Keep your voice down, Lillie,” Berdie whispered. “The walls are paper thin. As you’ve observed, everything about is a bit rough.”
Berdie knocked on the door with several rapid thumps. The metal number seven of the eighty-seven attached to the door dropped off with a clink and spun across the hallway. Lillie went to retrieve it just as the door cracked open.
Two questioning eyes could be seen peering through the crack, a frown barely visible. Music of a faraway culture sounded in the background. There was a stretch of silence between Berdie and the stranger then Berdie spoke.
“I’m Berdie and I was hoping Mr. Weston was in.”
“No,” came the quick reply and the person started to close the door. Berdie caught the handle.
“Does Mr. Joby Weston live here?”
As Berdie asked the question, Lillie, who had retrieved the errant number, tried to hand it to the occupant through the small opening. “This fell off…”
“No,” was followed by the crash of the closed door and the offered metal number clamoring to the floor.
“Your door.” Lillie finished and wiped her hand on her skirt. She turned to Berdie. “My, that was fruitful.”
“Thank you for that observation, Lillie.” Berdie was already knocking on the door once again. “Please don’t be frightened.”
From behind the closed door came a voracious, “Go. I call police.”
“Now that’s a switch,” Berdie noted with a twinge of irony. “All right, Lillie, let’s begin our descent then.” Berdie sighed. “I can’t help but think there’s something here though.”
“I can tell you what I wish was here. I could do with some tea and bread, nicely toasted, with jam.”
When Berdie and Lillie arrived in the car park by the tower block, a very loud wail assaulted their ears.
A small child sat on the ground as if on strike. Despite the mother’s best urging, the tot refused to arise. The fact that the attending young woman’s arms carried not only another younger child but two market bags of goods didn’t help either. As she attempted to bend over and lift the wailer, her market bag slipped to the ground sending food stuffs sprawling across the pavement. A look of desperation played itself across the face of the dark skinned woman. When she set the smaller child down to gather the items, the wee one stood on wobbly little legs. He looked to be just past a year old. A couple sways, and the tyke had his sea legs. The bundle of energy grinned and commenced a wobbly dash across the car park.
“Ezra,” sprung from the mother’s lips. “No, no Ezra.”
The other child still wailing, Berdie could stand by no longer. “We may not have gotten what we came here for, but we can certainly help that poor woman.”
“Bang goes the tea and toast,” Lillie mumbled.
“May we be of help?” Berdie called out.
The woman was a bit hesitant, but an auto turned into the car park. “Oh, please.”
As the mother scooted after Ezra, Lillie gathered the food and placed it in the bag.
Berdie knelt down by the wailing wonder. “Bye baby bunting, daddy’s gone a hunting,” Berdie began to sing.
“We’re trying to calm the child, not frighten him,” Lillie poked.
The tot appeared to be somewhat startled. He stopped crying and stared hard at Berdie with his large eyes then went into a whimper.
When the young woman returned with the captive Ezra, the seated child finally stood and clung to his mother’s leg.
“Come now, my son,” she said to the previous wailer who looked to be near four years, “you’re my big helper.”
The woman gazed at Berdie. Her stunning coco colored skin tone, attractive almond eyes, and slender body gave the woman an unmistakable beauty that was only enhanced by her silky voice. “Thank you.”
Lillie held the woman’s market bag, once again full.
“Can we help you to your door?” Berdie offered. “You do have your hands full.”
The woman looked into Berdie’s face as if searching for assurances of good intentions.
“We had hoped to visit so
meone,” Berdie explained. “We’re from Saint Aidan of the Wood Church.” Berdie could see a touch of relief in the lovely eyes.
“I have nothing to give,” the woman said humbly.
“Oh, my no, no, we’re not collecting. As I say, we came to visit someone but they weren’t in. I’m Berdie. This is Lillie.”
The woman smiled. “I’m Coral, and these are my sons.”
“And such handsome young men,” Berdie said with a grin.
The older boy now smiled a smile that could light up the entire housing complex.
“I’ll carry your market bag if you like,” Lillie offered.
“I can take the second bag.” Berdie was instinctively aware of a protective mother’s desire to keep her children close at hand, especially with two, albeit nice, strangers. Coral passed her second rotund market bag to Berdie.
“My flat is in this block, over there, on the ground floor.” Coral pointed.
“Oh, jolly good, jolly good,” Lillie exclaimed with a great deal of exuberance then sighed.
Coral looked inquisitively at Berdie.
“The lifts aren’t working.”
“Many times this is a problem.” Coral took her oldest boy by the hand, still holding little Ezra on her hip, and began a forward motion, “This way,” she nodded. “Who is it you come to visit? Perhaps I can help?”
“We’re hoping to locate Joby Weston,” Berdie said.
Coral’s forward motion ceased. “Joby Weston?”
“You know him then?” Berdie could tell by the lovely face gone sour that it was a loaded question.
“Know him?” Coral’s jaw tightened. “He is, was, my husband.”
“Was, really?” Lillie repeated with a definite surprise in her voice.
“One morning I find the note on the kitchen table, ‘Going back to Jamaica. Will come for you.’ That was almost two years ago, and Ezra was his parting gift.” Coral knitted her thin brows. “We never hear from him again. I don’t know where he is, and I can’t pay any of his bills.”
“We’re not bill collectors. We only hoped that Joby, your husband, could tell us about Wanda Pitts,” Berdie assured.
“She’s dead,” Coral said baldly.
Up from the Grave Page 12
