Bartlett sat back in his chair and sighed.
‘Would you please start at the beginning, man – here you are look, a nice pot of tea. Now, please begin.’
‘Well, you know you bin lookin’ for the Trawlerman?’
‘Yes, we have – what of it?’
‘Well. You see, sir, it’s like this … well … it’s … it’s me. I’m the Trawlerman.’
‘YOU?’
Bartlett and Boase looked at each other.
‘Yes, it’s me, and I’ve got a very good reason for telling this to you.’
‘Go on, tell.’
‘Well, this morning, I ʼave to confess to you that I was burgling someone’s ʼouse – early this morning, when I found a terrible, terrible thing. I ʼad just pinched some silver plate from a room upstairs – an’ a very nice set it was too, me mother always wanted something as nice as that, God rest ʼer soul …’
‘Go on, man,’ Bartlett was becoming impatient.
‘Well. I picked up all this lovely set an’ me bag wasn’t big enough – jewellery is what I normally go for most, but, well, I couldn’t really leave something as nice as that, could I, so, over in the corner of the room was a sort of … big, grey bag, I thought it’d do nicely to put me spoils in. Anyway …’ the man broke off and began to shake.
Boase handed him some sugary tea.
‘Drink this, sir, it’ll help.’
The man took a couple of large mouthfuls.
‘Well, when I opened the bag to put the stuff in, there it was … in the bag!’
‘What was?’
‘A man’s ʼead.’
‘Oh, my God,’ Bartlett sprang to his feet. ‘Quick man, the address – quickly.’
‘It was at number fourteen, Bar Terrace – but what about me? Aren’t you going to arrest me?’
No reply came. The two men had already left the room and the door had slammed shut. Boase stopped at the desk in the lobby where Penhaligon was speaking on the telephone.
‘Penhaligon – don’t let that man leave … he’s the Trawlerman! Get someone to fetch Greet to deal with him. We’ve got to dash!’ Bartlett stuck his head back through the front door.
‘Boase, hurry up, get a car.’
Within five minutes, Bartlett and Boase had arrived at the large house in Bar Terrace. Bartlett repeatedly rang the bell until the door was opened. A young boy of about nine stood there.
‘Young man, are your parents at home?’
‘No, sir, there’s just me an’ me little sister.’
‘Well, when will your father be back?’
‘E’s beʼind you.’
Bartlett and Boase turned to see a tall man walking up the path towards them.
‘What’s goin’ on ʼere then?’
Bartlett hurriedly introduced himself to the man, eager to get inside the house.
‘I need to search your house, I have reason to believe that there is evidence here of a very serious crime and I’ll thank you not to stand in my way.’
Before the man could argue, Bartlett and Boase had entered the building and were on their way upstairs. Bartlett took the first bedroom, Boase the next. Within a minute, Bartlett called out.
‘Boase, he was right, it’s here.’
Bartlett came out of the room, carrying the bag described to him by the Trawlerman.
‘It’s here all right, Boase. Get this fellow’s details, will you?’
Bartlett took the bag and its contents outside and waited in the car while the stunned owner of the house sat on the front step. Boase sat next to him.
‘I’m sorry about this, sir, but, you may know a very serious crime was committed recently and we’re working on the case.’
‘The murder in the park?’
‘Exactly. What’s your name, sir?’
‘Penfold. Jim Penfold.’
‘And this is your house?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who lives here with you?’
‘Well, there’s just me an’ the kids. My wife died about fifteen months ago – she ʼad tuberculosis …’
‘I’m sorry, sir.’
‘Well, we’d only just moved in ʼere the year before, after me mother-in-law died. She left us the ʼouse. It was always too big so we started letting out some of the rooms. Six bedrooms is far too much. Me wife was from a big family an’ she grew up ʼere. I s’ppose it was all right for thirteen children, but not for us. Ann always wanted to sell it, but it was ʼer fam’ly ʼome an’ I didn’t think we should. Silly really – the money would ʼave bin ʼandy. Now she’s gone I can’t bring meself to part with it. It reminds me of ʼer. I still see ʼer ev’rywhere, you know. So, I carried on taking in lodgers; that means I can work part-time in the docks and still look after Stephen and Angela.’
‘Have you any lodgers at the moment?’
‘No – I had two dockers until yesterday, but they’ve gone now, Swedish they were. Oh, and one other; a young woman, she left last night.’
‘Do you have the Swedish gentlemen’s addresses?’
‘I’m sorry, no. They only stayed a couple of nights. People always pay me in advance, so I don’t like to pry.’
Boase had thought this would be too much to hope for.
‘What about the woman?’
‘Oh, yeah, I know ʼer name. Bit ʼard not to really, she never stopped talking the ʼole time she was ʼere. Nice girl. She was called Sheila Parsons – from up country … London.’
‘Sheila Parsons! Are you sure about this?’
‘Of course I’m sure. Lovely girl, very talkative – she played with Stephen and Angela a lot. They really liked ʼer. She wasn’t ere long. I think she ʼad lodgings somewhere else before but she ʼad to leave – like I said, I don’t like to pry.’
‘Do you know where she is now?’
‘No idea, sorry, like I said …’
‘Yes, you don’t like to pry. Right, sir. I need to ask you about that bedroom. Who usually sleeps in there?’
‘No one – it’s just a spare. It’s the smallest so I don’t usually let it out to anyone.’
‘And when were you last in there?’
‘Probably about a week ago. There’s a box on top of the wardrobe where Stephen and Angela keep some old toys and they asked me to get it down for them; yes, about a week ago.’
‘Is it normally locked?’
‘Why would it be?’
‘Just wondering. So any of your lodgers could go in and out of that room at any time?’
‘Well, I suppose so – but why would they? There’s nothing in there.’
Boase thanked Jim Penfold and walked back to the car where Bartlett was waiting.’
‘I’ve put it in the boot – at least we’ve found it. We’ll have to send it off and have it examined. Any luck with him?’
‘Not really, sir, but something interesting came up.’
As they drove back to the police station, Boase told Bartlett about Sheila Parsons.
The same evening, Boase was at the Bartlett’s house again. Irene had asked her father to invite him for tea. At six o’clock the four sat down at the table to a light summer meal. Sandwiches, cold meat, puddings, and cakes.
‘Look, Archie, I’ve made you some pork pies – Dad says you really like them.’
Boase felt embarrassed.
‘Well … er … yes, I do, Irene. Your father’s quite right – and they look lovely.’
The four sat and ate and Bartlett and Boase had a couple of Leonard’s.
‘Do you know, princess, in Oxford, you can’t even get Leonard’s? Who ever heard of such a thing? Well, one thing’s for sure – we won’t be moving up there.’
‘Not everyone likes Leonard’s, I’m sure, dear.’ Caroline smiled at her husband.
‘Then they must be mad, that’s all I can say – isn’t that right, Boase?’
Boase was secreting a large piece of the delicious pork pie under the table to a waiting Topper who received it gently and gratefully.
&n
bsp; He whispered to the dog, ‘Good boy, Topper. Was that nice? It’s the nicest pork pie I think I’ve ever tasted.’
‘My Irene’s a good cook and no mistake about that, Boase.’
‘Dad,’ now it was Irene’s turn to look embarrassed, ‘it’s only pork pie.’
‘Nothing wrong with being able to cook good, wholesome, English food, nothing at all. You should see the stuff they eat abroad. I was reading only the other day … listen to this all … in some countries they eat dogs and cats – who ever heard of such a thing. Unbelievable, I say.’
‘We eat animals too, George.’
‘That’s different, princess. Dogs are for companions, not tables.’
Topper, now full of pork pie, let out a huge sigh under the table.
‘That’s right, Topper,’ Boase patted the dog’s head, ‘don’t you listen to things like that, cover your ears. Why’s he called Topper, sir?’
‘Well, my boy, when I was a young man, new to the force, I was sent on an errand to Hyde Park police station and they had a little fox terrier there, lovely he was. He was called Topper. He used to go out with the constables – more company than use I think, but he was such a dear little chap, so intelligent. I’ve never forgotten him and I always said that when I had a dog I’d call him Topper.’
At this, the dog crept from under the table and licked his master’s hand.
‘You’re a good’un, Topper, old boy, you really are.’
Caroline stood up.
‘Well, you two, it’s still early. What are you going to do now?’
‘Don’t know, Mum. What would you like to do, Archie?’
‘I don’t mind – you choose.’
‘Well, we could go to see a film. Harold Lloyd is showing – if you’d like to.’
‘Why not? Get your coat.’
The two left the house and walked to the town. Reaching the St George’s Hall in Church Street, they joined a long queue.
‘Do you mind waiting, Archie?’ Irene asked as she slipped her arm through his.
‘Not a bit, Irene.’
As Bartlett and Boase drank their first cup of tea at the police station early the next morning, Penhaligon rushed in with a large, brown envelope.
‘These are the post mortem reports on Desmond Cook, sir. The courier said to tell you it’s very urgent.’
‘Thank you, Penhaligon.’
Bartlett tore open the envelope and scanned the contents.
‘No, no, no. This can’t be.’
‘What, sir, what’s happened?’
‘NO!’
‘What, sir?’
Bartlett jumped up from his chair, throwing the report across the desk to Boase.
‘This says that it’s impossible for the severed head we found to belong to the body of Desmond Cook. There’s no way they could match up.
The head belongs to another body !ʼ
Chapter Four
Bartlett and Boase sat, lost for words. Boase sipped his tea, Bartlett stared out of the window. At last, Bartlett stood up.
‘Well, we all know what this means, my boy – there’s been another murder. And, if I’m honest, I don’t know where to start with this one, indeed I don’t.’
‘Sir, is there any way that this could be a mistake?’
‘No, it’s definitely right, lad. Definitely right. We need to go back to the drawing board with this one now, right back to the beginning. So, what do we know already?’
’Well, sir, Desmond Cook’s body was found decapitated in the park –’
‘Are we now sure it’s his body, eh?’
‘I suppose we aren’t, sir.’
‘Right, well, that’s the first thing we need to find out – the body had no documents or money – absolutely nothing. Doctor Cook recognised the clothing but maybe we shouldn’t have placed so much on that. The clothes were right, his usual location was right but that’s not enough now, is it?’ Try to sort that out, will you, Boase? We need to talk to Sheila Parsons again, also that man Penfold at Bar Terrace – oh, and maybe Doctor Cook. We have no time to waste. Perhaps you could do Parsons and Penfold – I’ll take the doctor. Do we know where that young woman is?’
‘She said she wasn’t leaving yet the last time I spoke to her so she’ll be around, sir. I’ll find her.
Boase arrived at the large house on Bar Terrace. He rang the bell. No reply. He knocked. No reply. Thinking that someone might be in at the back of the house and couldn’t hear him, he walked around the side garden to the rear door. As he reached a kitchen window he heard a sound coming from inside; he stopped and listened. He could hear two people laughing – a man and a woman. He quietly approached the window and looked inside. At the far end of the room a woman was cooking and a man had his arms wrapped tightly around her waist. Boase looked closer. Both people had their backs to him but he could easily see that it was Jim Penfold and Sheila Parsons. Boase was aghast. He rushed across to the back door and knocked loudly. The noise inside the house stopped and footsteps approached the door. After a hesitation, it was opened and Jim Penfold stood there.
‘Constable Boase?’
Penfold was clearly surprised and invited his guest inside.
‘We’re in the kitchen,’ Penfold added, somewhat reluctantly.
Boase followed him into the room where Sheila Parsons still stood at the cooker. She looked up as the two men entered.
‘Oooh … you’re that policeman, aren’t you? I recognise you from the other day.’
‘I didn’t expect to find you here, miss?’
‘Well, no – that is, I was leavin’ for London tomorrow, but then I changed me mind.’
‘And why was that?’
Penfold stepped forward and put his arm around Sheila’s shoulder.
‘I asked her to, Constable Boase. When Sheila was staying ʼere, well, we got quite attached to one another. She left, as I told you, but came back because she thought she forgot something yesterday – that’s when I asked her to stay. She didn’t really ʼave anywhere else to go and I think I’d like the company, so, ʼere she is.’
Boase was puzzled by this unexpected turn of events.
Jim Penfold sat down on a chair by the back door.
‘What is all this about, Constable Boase? We ʼaven’t done nothing wrong. You and your boss come bursting in ʼere the other day, like a pair of lunatics, asking all sorts of questions and searchin my ʼouse – what for? I ʼaven’t killed anyone. Now you’re quizzin’ us cos we’ve decided we might like to spend some more time together – I really don’t see what that’s got to do with anyone ʼcept us.’
Sheila Parsons never spoke.
‘No, well,’ Boase leaned against the pantry door, ʻit wouldn’t normally be anyone’s business, but, following our previous visit to you, we have now discovered that we are not dealing with a murder any longer …’
‘You’ve caught ʼim then?’ Sheila fiddled with the buttons on her cardigan.
‘I didn’t say that, miss – nor did I say the murderer was a man. I was about to tell you that following our last visit here, we are now dealing with two murders.’
‘Well, what’s that to do with us? I told you everything I know when you came here – and ʼow did that visit lead you to ʼaving two murders now?’ Jim Penfold was beginning to get angry at the events happening in his kitchen.
‘Let’s just say that I’ve come back because we previously found an item in your house that tells us that two men have been murdered; that’s all I can say for now. But I would like you to tell me anything else that you’ve overlooked. It’s very important.’
At that, Stephen and Angela came running through the passage and entered the kitchen. They ran to Jim and hugged him.
‘Well, I’ve told you all I know – and I’m sure Sheila ʼas too …’
Sheila nodded and said nothing.
‘So please leave us alone now, Constable Boase.
‘Well if you feel you’ve forgotten anything, please call into the police s
tation and ask for me or Inspector Bartlett? Oh, and – both of you, please stay nearby … this enquiry is so large that you’ll definitely be spotted if you try to leave the town.’
Boase left by the same back door and entered the garden. As he walked around to the street he puzzled over what had just happened. None of it made any sense.
Bartlett was already at the station when Boase returned. He relayed what had just happened at Bar Terrace.
‘Well, that’s strange all right, Boase. I thought Sheila Parsons had left Penfold’s place?’
‘That’s what he told us, sir, but apparently she came back.’
‘Right, well, I don’t mind saying, I’m well and truly stumped – where do we go from here? Oh, there is one thing, just a minute.’
Bartlett was fumbling in his pocket.
‘Greet’s just been in here – he nearly had a seizure … I’m surprised you didn’t hear him shouting when you were at Bar Terrace. Look, Doctor Cook left this message with his maid. It says that Desmond had a house which he sometimes used, although he mainly lived at Florence Terrace. He says here that he doesn’t have a key though. We should go round there and see if we can find anything.’
‘What’s the address?’
‘Er, 2, Windsor Terrace – that’s up the back of Killigrew. We’ll get over there – failing anything there, any other ideas, my boy?’
‘We could try Donald Cook tomorrow – isn’t he docking tonight? Maybe he could tell us something about Desmond.’
‘Well, yes, but what? He’s been out of the country – what could he know about all this business? No one’s been reported missing, we’ve got two separate body parts belonging to two people and I don’t know what to do.’
Bartlett mopped his brow with his handkerchief and stared out of the window onto the street below.
At the doctor’s surgery on Florence Terrace, Ingrid Cook sat in the dining room with her husband. In front of her was a bowl of thin soup. She turned it over and over with the spoon, pausing only to dab her eyes with a handkerchief.
‘Ingrid, darling – please try to have a little soup. You need to stay strong now, Donald will be here tomorrow and he’ll need you too. I need you. Please have just a little.’
Too Many Cooks Page 5
