Bartlett and Caroline looked out of the kitchen window and watched as Boase and Irene kissed on the bench. They both smiled.
‘George, look at Topper.’
The pair laughed out loud as they saw Topper walk around the back of the bench until he was out of view of the lovers, sinking himself into the herbaceous border.
The four sat at the table in the dining room, Topper installing himself between the chairs of Bartlett and Boase, hopeful for the usual morsels that came his way.
‘Mum and I had such a lovely day in Mevagissey last week, Archie.’
‘Yes, I heard you were going. Looks like you had some nice weather.’
‘It was ever so funny. Mrs Treloar and Mrs Bishop must go on every mystery trip – and they succeed in ruining it for everyone. Mrs Treloar barges straight to the front of the queue and asks where they’re going, then she ends up having an argument with everyone.’
Bartlett snorted.
‘I’m surprised they don’t get banned from the trips.’
‘Well, we didn’t mind, did we Mum?’
‘No, dear. It was a very nice day – I enjoyed it.’
‘Talking of mysteries, I wish we could get a grip on this Cook business, Boase. Greet’s beginning to get on my nerves. He’s going to have us off the case very soon, Boase, mark my words.’
‘I know, sir. I just wish we could get a break. I don’t know how much more we can do. Something or someone’s got to give soon.’
Irene felt sorry for Boase and patted his hand.
‘Don’t worry, Archie – I know you and Dad are giving it your all. It’ll come together soon, I just know it.’
Both Bartlett and Boase, at that moment, wished for Irene’s confidence.
At eleven o’clock, Boase said his goodbyes to the Bartletts, spending more time on the step with Irene than he usually did. He didn’t want to leave. As he looked at her he could sense something different about her – just what he couldn’t say. She was just so beautiful. He eventually tore himself away and headed for home, his head full of the girl he knew he wanted to marry.
Cardew Carlton stood at one end of the kitchen in the Cornelius house. Daisy Davies sat on a chair by the butler’s pantry.
‘Daisy – you must tell me what’s going on. I came in here and you were stuffing food into your apron. Why, in only the last four weeks, large quantities of food have gone missing from this kitchen to say nothing of the drink. Poor Cook is having a fit because she doesn’t like thievery – and neither do I. Come on, Daisy. What’s going on?’
‘I’m so sorry, Mr Carlton, really I am. I can’t tell you what’s bin goin’ on – I want to, but I can’t.’
‘Daisy, you could lose your job over this and I won’t be able to save you. The mistress and Jane searched high and low to find a little seamstress as good as you and you were all lucky to find each other. Not all Barnardo’s girls get such a good chance as this. Tell me what’s going on.’
‘No.’
Daisy mopped the tears from her eyes.
‘I’ve caused so much trouble, really I ʼave. I’ll ʼave to leave anyway.’
‘Well, it might not come to that if you tell the truth.’
‘Yes it will.’
‘I’m trying to help you, Daisy. Just admit you stole the food and make an arrangement to repay the cost. The mistress is a charitable and good woman – she won’t put you out.’
‘But she will, Mr Carlton. It’s not just about the stealing.’
‘What is it then?’
‘Oh, no. I really can’t tell you.’
‘Daisy – you must. What can be so bad? I can help you. I don’t want to see you go.’
‘I think I left the back door unbolted.’
Daisy sobbed harder.
‘You? Daisy, no one must use that door – you know that.’
‘Yes. I do. I’ve been talking to Percy the butcher’s boy and, well, I’ve been seein’ ʼim round in the back garden. I didn’t ever leave the door but it’s so quiet in the back ʼall and we’ve just bin snatching a few minutes to talk from time to time. ʼE wants to marry me, Mr Carlton.’
‘Well, this is a turn-up for the books, my girl. Marry? But you’re only sixteen.’
‘Yes. Well, I love ʼim and when I get put out of ʼere, I won’t ʼave anyone else.’
‘You’re not … in the family way, I hope? Is that what all this is about?’
‘Oh, no, sir! No, nothing like that. Percy is a gentleman. But I ʼave bin very silly – and careless. We’ve bin ʼaving a bit of fun, like I said. Well, one day I was just wavin’ cheerio and as Percy left the garden a man ran up to me as I was about to shut the door and asked me for food and drink – an’ some clothes. ʼE said ʼe knew about me an’ Percy and if I didn’t feed ʼim then Percy would get badly ʼurt an’ I might never see im again. I haven’t seen the man for a while but I’ve been taking a little bit o’ food and keeping it under me bed in case ʼe turns up again. ’E came a couple of times and I just left a little parcel outside the back door. The last time I saw ‘im, ’e said ’e’d be back two days later. I told ‘im ’e mustn’t cos of the party an’ all – ’e said ’e’d be ’ere anyway and I was to leave the food outside the door as usual.
‘Who was this man, Daisy?’
‘I don’t know ʼis name.’
‘Right, get your coat.’
‘Where are you takin’ me, Mr Carlton?’
‘We’re going to the police station and you’re going to tell Inspector Bartlett everything you’ve just told me.’
‘Am I in trouble, Mr Carlton?’
‘Not if I can help it – but you should have told the truth, Daisy.’
The two left the house and walked to Berkeley Vale.
Bartlett was tapping his fingers on the desk. Boase was eating a ham sandwich and rifling through some papers.
‘That’s really annoying, sir.’
‘What? Oh, sorry, Boase. I was miles away. What are you up to?’
‘I’m just going through the postal delivery, sir. Quite a few things here for us both, mostly uninteresting. I’m just trying to get ahead with it all while I’ve got a minute or two. Hang on a minute.’
Boase put down his sandwich and brought an envelope over to Bartlett.
‘Sorry, sir. This must have been delivered last night – I missed it.’
‘Well, it seems to me you’ve been a bit distracted lately, I can’t think why that might be.’
Bartlett knew perfectly well why Boase couldn’t concentrate.
‘Anyway, isn’t all this Penhaligon’s job?’
‘Well, yes, sir. Usually. But I gather his mother is very unwell at the moment and he’s been allowed to take a couple of days off.’
‘Is it serious? Greet isn’t normally so amenable.’
‘I think it might be, sir.’
‘I’m sorry. Mrs Penhaligon is a very nice woman. I hope she’ll be all right. Blimey, Boase. This letter is from the fire chief.’
‘What’s it say, sir?’
‘Wait a minute.’
Bartlett lowered his glasses from their resting place on his forehead and read on.
‘I can’t understand this, Boase. It doesn’t make sense.’
‘What doesn’t, sir?’
‘Well, you know I was asking about the Penfold boy?’
‘Yes, I was with you. They hadn’t found his body by the time we got there.’
‘They still haven’t.’
‘What do you mean, sir?’
‘It says they’ve been right through the house and garden and they’ve found nothing. It goes on to say, too, that the fire was definitely started deliberately.’
Boase sat back down in is chair.
‘Are you going to say this is to do with Sheila Parsons as well, sir?’
‘I don’t know. Bit of a coincidence, isn’t it? If the man who’s been hanging around had something to do with the fire, well … maybe he set it hoping she’d be in the house?’
<
br /> ‘But then he’d never get the ring, would he?’
‘This is getting deeper by the day, Boase. Deeper by the day.’
As the two men pondered over the contents of the letter, the desk sergeant knocked at the door.
‘Excuse me sir, Archie. There’s a Mr Carlton outside wants to see you. Says it’s urgent. He’s got a young lady with him.’
‘Send them in.’
Cardew Carlton, accompanied by Daisy, entered the office.
‘Good afternoon, Mr Carlton. What can we do for you?’
‘Good afternoon, Inspector Bartlett, Constable Boase. This is Daisy Davies – she’s seamstress to the Cornelius family. Say hello, Daisy.’
Daisy said nothing but stood behind Mr Carlton.
‘Something has happened at the house, Inspector, and I thought you ought to know about it in case it was relevant.’
‘Well, why don’t you both have a seat and talk to us?’
Bartlett pulled a chair from under the window for Daisy and Boase offered his to Carlton.
‘What do you want to tell us?’
‘I think Daisy should explain, Inspector.’
Daisy nervously retold the story about Percy and the back door and the stranger threatening her.
‘Daisy, Constable Boase and I are here to help, so please tell us everything you can. What did the man look like?’
‘Well, I can remember him very plainly, sir. ʼE was quite short, black ʼair and an ʼorrible gold tooth. He was very nasty looking.’
‘And why did he want food?’
‘ʼE.never said – just that ʼe would turn up at a certain time and expect me to give ʼim stuff. So I did cos I was afraid for Percy.’
‘Did you let him into the house, Daisy?’
‘No, sir. Never.’
‘Do you remember leaving the bolt off the door?’
‘I’m not sure. . I really can’t remember – ʼe was upsetting me so much it’s ʼard to remember. I’m very particular – I know the mistress doesn’t like anyone using that door.’
‘Right, thank you, both. Be sure to let us know if this man reappears or if you think of anything else, won’t you?’
‘Yes, we shall, Inspector. Good afternoon.’
The pair left and Bartlett and Boase looked at each other.
‘Why can’t we find him, sir? This is ridiculous – everyone seems to have bumped into him except us. He’s very clever.’
‘Well, he’s not going to beat us. What’s your take, Boase? Do you think he went to the house for food just to have a snoop round before the party? That would be risky especially since Daisy told him there’d be lots of people around.
‘Dunno, sir. Looks like he hasn’t been back there since – Anyway, I’ve been making a few notes.’
Bartlett smiled to himself. That’s what he liked about Boase – methodical to a fault. The younger man flipped open a pad of paper and began to tell Bartlett what he had written.
‘Well, sir, this is my theory. Could be all wrong, of course, but, in the absence of anything else …’
‘I’m listening.’
‘I think that maybe this man – let’s call him, I dunno, Paul. Let’s say Paul killed Donald Cook and Desmond Cook …’
Bartlett stared at Boase.
‘So you think they’re both dead too?’
‘Please don’t interrupt, sir. I’ll lose my thread. Let’s say they are – we have had two separate corpses after all, that much we know. If it’s not both Cooks, then who? Paul wants the ring – desperately. He finds out that Sheila has it …’
‘How?’
‘Sir, please. He finds out that Sheila has it and starts following her. We’ve seen him hanging around. He has a finger from the missing body – of which we don’t know the whereabouts, but it looks to be Donald.
‘But she said she only went up to the house because he was following her – it wasn’t planned.’
‘Hmm. All right – I’ll give you that for now. What if he wasn’t actually following her that night – he was coming up to the house for the food parcel? So, he comes round the back of the house, looks for the food, and when it’s not there he enters through the rear door to see if it’s in the hall.’
Bartlett put down the reading spectacles he had been fiddling with and looked at Boase.
‘Really?'
Why not? Then he conceals himself in the little cupboard under the stairs…maybe when he hears someone he has to hide … perhaps when the tray comes out – now, remember where the table is that held the tray? It’s right by the cupboard. As long as the person with the tray isn’t looking, he can quickly open the door, put the finger on the tray and job done. We’ve been told it was quite dim in the hall that evening … and I remember it was. I’d say that each person was given two minutes to memorise the contents of the tray.
‘But that assumes that the person minding the tray wasn’t minding the tray – and that Paul was in the house at the same time as you.’
‘Yes – I know. But how could I possibly expect anything like that, sir? Anyway, I can’t remember who took the tray, I can check – it was a man, but maybe he removed one of the items, put it into his pocket, then went to get a drink or something while he was waiting to return the tray.’ And there’s another thing, sir. Paul knew that Sheila had come up to the house and if he did come into the rear hall he would have heard her.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, sir, Irene was really laughing at Sheila – because she was so loud. She was shouting out the objects on the tray louder than anyone. I’m surprised they didn’t hear her in Penryn. So anyone in the hall would know she was there – maybe that’s why Paul put the finger on the tray; because he knew she was nearby and that it would incriminate her.’
Bartlett scratched his head.
‘Come along, sir. Play the game – we have to try to fill in the gaps until we know.’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’
‘Anyway, next, Paul sets the fire at the house where he has previously concealed the head, thinking that Sheila Parsons is there that night – he couldn’t know that she was here in a cell.’
‘So, where’s the boy Stephen?’
‘Well, that’s where I come unstuck. But you asked for my theory and that’s it – so far.’
‘Some of that makes sense, Boase. But there are a lot of gaps.’
‘I know but we should be able to fill them in, shouldn’t we?’
‘We have to my boy – no two ways.’
Chapter Twelve
Topper sat under the breakfast table while Bartlett drank a cup of tea and ate two slices of bread and butter. The dog looked hopefully up at his master and gratefully and gently took a small piece of the bread which was handed to him.
‘Well, Topper boy, I hope things look up today and that’s a fact. Wish me luck old chap. Aren’t you such a good boy – so loyal. I’d really miss you if you weren’t around.
The early morning silence of the dining room was shattered by shouting from upstairs.
‘Dad, Dad – come up quickly.’
Bartlett ran into the hall and up the stairs, two at a time. Irene was in her parents’ bedroom where her mother was slumped on the floor.
‘Help me get her up, Dad. I think she’s fainted.’
Bartlett knelt to the floor and took his wife in his arms. He looked at her face.
‘Princess, princess! Oh no! Princess. Please wake up. Irene, call someone – quickly.’
Irene ran back down the stairs not even knowing who to fetch.
Bartlett lay his wife on the bed, watching and listening. He could see her breathing.
‘Princess. It’s me – your George. Please speak to me.’
Caroline, hearing the voice, moved her head and opened her eyes.
‘George, is that you?’
‘Of course it’s me, princess. Oh, you gave me such a fright. Would you like a sip of water? Here you are.’
He gently leaned across her and
picked up a glass of water, offering it up to his wife’s lips. She took a sip. He replaced the glass and held her hand. Slowly her colour returned.
‘What happened, princess? Did you faint?’
‘I think so. The room went dark suddenly and I had a pain.’
‘Where? Where did you have a pain? Your heart?’
‘Well, in my chest and my arm.’
‘Irene’s gone to get someone – she’ll be back in a minute.’
‘Yes, I just called her and she came running, God bless her.’
‘Well, it’s a good job you weren’t on your own, that’s all I can say. You really need to take things easier, my beautiful girl.’
Bartlett stroked his wife’s hair.
‘I do take things easy, George. I couldn’t possibly do any less.’
‘Yes you could – and you’re going to have to.’
The two lay on the bed, Bartlett rocking Caroline in his arms. A tear fell from his cheek onto hers. He looked away. Topper stood on the landing looking into the room.
‘It’s all right, boy. She’s all right. Look – you can come in.’
The dog wandered around to the side of the bed and looked at Caroline then returned to Bartlett and licked the man’s hand reassuringly.
‘She’s OK, Topper boy. She’s OK. Go down and wait for Irene now. She’ll be here in a minute.’
The dog obeyed and returned down the stairs and sat by the front door.
Boase looked at the clock. Ten past ten. He hoped Bartlett was all right – he was never late for work. More, he hoped nothing had happened to Irene. Now he was panicking. He made a cup of tea and asked the desk sergeant if he had heard anything. Just as they were speaking, Bartlett came through the front door of the station.
‘Oh, good morning, sir. Everything all right?’
‘Not really, Boase. Mrs Bartlett was taken ill this morning and I had to wait with her.’
‘Nothing serious I hope, sir. Here’s a cup of tea. Come in and sit down.’
‘Well, I’m worried that it is serious. Mrs Bartlett has heart trouble, as you know – well, I’ve never seen her so bad as this morning. Fair shook me up it did.’
‘Maybe you should have the day off, sir. I’m sure we can manage.’
‘That’s kind of you, my boy, but we’ve got far too much on – Irene’s with her anyway. The doctor’s been and she’s a bit more settled now. He’s given her some new medicine so she’s going to try that. Thanks, Boase.’
Too Many Cooks Page 14
