‘And Irene … is Irene all right, sir?’
‘Irene is fine. She was marvellous this morning – she’s such a good girl, my Irene.’
‘I know, sir.’
‘Thanks for the tea, Boase. I needed one.’
‘You’re more than welcome. There’s a letter here addressed to you – some kid delivered it this morning. Here you are.’
Boase slid a brown envelope across Bartlett’s desk. The older man looked at the envelope.
‘What’s this – Topper’s got better writing.’
Boase chuckled and watched as Bartlett opened the envelope.
‘Oh my …’
‘What is it, sir? Bad news?’
‘I don’t know what sort of news this is. Have a look.’
Bartlett handed the note to Boase who laid it on his desk and read it.
I’ve got the Penfold boy. If you want to see him alive then you have to give me the ring. It’s mine and I want it. Sheila Parsons is a murderer and you want to watch her. I know she did them both. She’ll probably strike again soon – she’s evil all right. Just make sure I get the ring. I’ll send another note with instructions tomorrow. You can tell the man Penfold that his boy is safe.
‘He’s got Stephen, sir. He’s alive.’
‘Well, he says so – how do we know? What do we do now?’
‘Well, wait for the instructions, I suppose. We have to get the boy back. Are you going to tell Jim Penfold?’
‘Well, I went up to the hospital last night and told him the boy hasn’t been found. He’s desperate. I might leave it until we know more what’s happening. It could make things worse for him.’
‘Right-oh, sir.’
Bartlett lit his pipe. He looked out of the window wondering how Caroline was. What would he do if anything happened to her? How could he live without her? His thoughts were interrupted by Boase.
‘Do you want me to go up and tell Greet, sir? He needs to know what’s happened.’
‘Yes. Right – he does. Come one, we’ll go up and see him together. Hang on to your hat.’
The two went up to the next floor to Superintendent Greet’s office to relay their latest news.
At Penmere Hill, Caroline Bartlett was feeling a little better. She was sitting up in bed with a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Topper lay on the rug beside the bed. He looked up as Irene came into the bedroom.
‘I brought you some soup, Mum. Topper, what are you doing up here? Mum’s not well.’
‘Leave him, Irene – he’s making me feel better. I’m really not hungry, dear. All that this morning has taken it out of me a bit.’
‘I know – and that’s why you need to eat something. Go on. Please try a little – before Dad comes home. He’ll be so pleased to think you’ve eaten something.’
‘Well, maybe just a small drop.’
Iren sat on the bottom of the bed and watched while her mother managed half a bowl of thin soup. She took the tray and the bowl back and placed them on the dressing table.
‘Here, Mum. Let me do your pillows, you don’t look very comfortable.’
‘Thank you, dear. You’re very good to me. You know I can manage on my own – I could manage on my own if you weren’t here.’
‘I’m not going anywhere, Mum. Don’t worry.’
‘But I do worry, Irene. You can’t spend the rest of your life looking after me. What about Archie?’
‘What about Archie?’
Caroline took her daughter’s hand.
‘Irene, he’s very much in love with you. I wouldn’t be surprised if he asked you to marry him very soon.’
‘Mum! Don’t be silly.’
‘I’m serious – and so is Archie. Your father and I can tell and if … when, he asks you, then you’ll have to think very seriously. We don’t want you wasting your life here with us.’
‘You trying to get rid of me, Mum?’
‘No – of course I’m not trying to get rid of you. I just want you to be happy. You do like Archie, don’t you.’
Irene stopped fiddling with the pillows and sat back down on the bed.
‘I really like him, Mum. A lot.’
‘Well then, don’t take a backward glance if you get a chance to make a life for yourself. I doubt you’d be far away anyway – Archie’s a Cornishman through and through, yes, very proud to be Cornish.’
‘Thanks, Mum. I’ll make you a cup of tea.’
Irene went down to the kitchen. She didn’t like the conversation she had just had. Her mother was worried that she’d die – yes, that was it. If she did, perish the thought, Irene would have to look after her father. Oh, what a turmoil. She felt a little sick and went out into the garden for some air. She couldn’t think about all this just now – it was all too much.
‘What’s the best way to catch him, Boase?’
Bartlett looked to his assistant for advice.
‘Well, I think our best bet is to wait for another note.’
‘But what if that doesn’t happen?’
‘Well, he wants the ring, doesn’t he?’
‘Yes, but I’ve been involved in these ransom-type things before … rarely do they have a good outcome.’
‘But we’ll make sure this one does, sir.’
‘We can’t afford for anything to go wrong, though.’
‘Don’t get cold feet now – we’ll get him, I know it.’
Bartlett returned home having been allowed by Greet to leave an hour earlier than usual. He turned his key in the lock and went into the hall. Topper poked his head through the banister at the top of the stairs and wagged his tail.
‘Hello, boy – you been looking after Mother? All right – I’m coming up.’
Bartlett ascended the stairs and went into his bedroom, followed by Topper. Caroline was sitting in bed reading a book.
‘Hello, George. I’m so pleased to see you – but you’re early.’
‘I missed you, princess – how are you feeling?’
‘Much better, thank you, dear. I think that new medicine is helping.’
‘I’m very glad to hear that. Where’s Irene? In the garden?’
‘No – she went along to take some beef tea to Mrs Weekes. The poor old dear hasn’t been well at all.’
‘Mrs Weekes? Do I know her?’
‘Yes. She lives out at Fenwick Road in that enormous house. You remember, she was at that summer fete last year. She makes jam, well, I don’t suppose she can now with her arthritis so bad.’
‘Yes, I remember. What time will she be back? She shouldn’t have left you.’
‘That’s what she said but I insisted. She’ll be back in about an hour. She can’t stay shut in here all day long and it’s such a beautiful evening – the air will do her good. She’s been looking a little pale lately I fancy.’
‘Is she all right?’
‘Yes, George. I think she’s a little lovesick.’
‘Archie?’
‘Yes – who else?’
Irene walked along and approached the turning into Fenwick Road. As she turned the corner, two men bumped into her, almost knocking her to the ground. She dropped her basket on the pavement, shattering the jar of beef tea. She bent to retrieve what remained.
‘I’m so sorry.’
She looked up at the two men. One smiled at her and took her by the arm.
‘Well you’re a little sweetie, aren’t you?’
He pushed her roughly to the other man.
‘No – I think she’s more your type than mine, Bill.’
The other man put his arms around her waist and kissed her on the cheek. Irene screamed.
‘Don’t – please let me go. No. Get off.’
She screamed again and began to cry. As Bill grinned at her she looked up at him and saw the smile turn to a grimace as his head was pulled back by his hair and he was spun around. Archie Boase lifted the man off his feet and dashed him against the wall. Turning quickly he swiftly landed a punch straight into the other’s f
ace. As he withdrew his fist, the man fell to the ground, bleeding from his nose.
‘Turn around, please, Irene.’
Irene, terrified for herself and for Boase, obeyed. She heard more punches, what sounded like cracking bones, and much groaning. A minute later, Boase was by her side. He took her in his arms and as she looked over his shoulder she could see the two men, motionless on the ground.
‘Archie … are … are they … all right?’
‘Who cares? You come with me.’
Boase led Irene across the road and into his lodging house. He entered the kitchen by the back door and sat her down at the table.
‘I’m so glad I was there, Irene. I don’t know what they might have done.’
Irene was still shaking.
‘Here, have a little brandy – Mrs Curgenven has this to help her to sleep sometimes.’
Boase handed Irene a small glass and poured the brandy into it.
‘Archie, I don’t drink.’
‘I know – but just have a drop. It’ll help … that was a terrible shock.’
She sipped the brandy and coughed. Boase smiled and took the glass from her. He stood her up next to him.
‘Irene – well, I wanted to ask … that is, I’ve been meaning to ask – well, I just had something a bit better than this planned but, well, seeing you just now, so helpless. I want to take care of you – always. Irene … marry me?’
Irene looked into Boase’s eyes and her heart melted.
‘Archie, I thought you’d never ask.’
‘Really?’
‘I love you, Archie.’
‘I really love you too, Irene. Is that yes then?’
‘Yes. Yes. Yes.’
‘I don’t know what Irene would have done without you last night, Boase. She was so upset over what happened – thanks for bringing her home safely. It was lucky you were there.’
‘Well, I’m glad I was, sir.’
Boase and Irene had made no mention to anyone of what else had passed between them. Boase wanted to speak to Bartlett himself and this wasn’t really the right time while there was so much else going on. Inside he was bursting with happiness but couldn’t say anything yet. No, he’d just have to keep this all to himself until the right moment, just get on with his job.
‘Any sign of another note yet, Boase?’
No, nothing, sir. It’s still early. Do you think he’ll do it?’
‘I assume so – if he thinks there’s a chance of getting the ring. I just hope the boy Stephen is all right.’
Boase fumbled in his pocket for an emergency pork pie and laid it on the desk in front of him.
‘That your breakfast?’
‘Sort of, sir – I was a little late this morning. I only had time for toast, marmalade, a bacon sandwich, and some tea.’
‘Only?’ Bartlett couldn’t remember himself ever having an appetite like that – not even when he was a young man.
‘Yes, you definitely need a good woman to take care of you, my boy.’
Boase fidgeted in his seat. He knew exactly what he needed and didn’t like deceiving Bartlett any longer than he had to. He said nothing but began, with a small penknife, to divide up his pork pie.
‘Want a bit, sir?’
‘No, thank you – you enjoy it. Wouldn’t mind a cuppa though. Penhaligon back yet? I miss his tea – he’s getting rather good at it.’
‘No, sir. I think he’s coming back tomorrow. His mother had two nights in hospital – he’s very worried about her.’
‘Well, so he should be – she’s done a lot for him over the years, yes, they’ve had difficult times all right.’
A knock at the door was followed immediately by the desk sergeant’s head poking around it.
‘It’s here, sir. The letter you’ve been waiting for, I think.’
‘Who brought it?’
‘Sorry, I didn’t see anyone but it’s been like Piccadilly out here this morning – anyone could have left it on the desk.’
‘Well, how long ago did you notice it?’
‘Just a couple of minutes, sir. The Flanagan brothers were brought in again, found mixing it down on the Prince of Wales Pier … drunk already. When I went back to the desk, there it was.’
Bartlett was opening the latest envelope and looking down on to the street below. A small boy was hurrying down towards the Moor. As he walked quickly, he turned and looked back at the police station.
‘Boase – go after that boy down there, the one with the green trousers … I’ve got a strange feeling he’s the messenger.’
‘Right, sir.’
Boase ran out of the door and on to the street. In the distance he saw the boy in the green trousers heading towards the library and Webber Street. He ran after him and got caught up in the market stalls which had been packed with people since about seven o’clock that morning. Negotiating his way through, he lost sight of the boy. He carried on to where Webber Street gave on to High Street. Looking up and down, he saw the boy, now running up the hill. Boase followed. Almost at the top he reached the Star and Garter. Enrico Trewavas was standing on the front step.
‘Constable Boase – how lovely to see you. How are you?’
‘Enrico – did you see a small boy in green trousers come past her a minute or two ago?’
No – I saw him coming towards me … but not past.’
‘Where could he have gone?’
‘Barracks Ope?’
Boase was gone already in the direction of the opening. He ran down the steps towards the sea. The boy was nowhere to be seen. A fit man, Boase was now out of breath and his quarry was gone. He leaned against the wall for a moment. No – there was no one here, just two old rowing boats, a couple of crab pots, and some beer crates from Enrico’s cellar. Boase, feeling the warmth of the sun and the strain of the exertion, suddenly felt a little peculiar. He loosened his collar and unbuttoned his jacket. The air would not come to him. He tried to take a breath but, no, he felt as though he were being strangled. This was all getting too much – a killer on the loose, the superintendent on and on all the time, the stress he had felt for poor Irene, and those awful men last night. Yes. Irene. Maybe Boase was just getting too excited. He’d need to calm down a bit. He sat down on one of the little upturned rowing boats and gazed out to Flushing. He felt a stone in his shoe and bent to remove it. As he leaned forward he saw something odd under the boat and right between his feet. He stood up from his seat and knelt to the ground. A piece of light blue linen was sticking out. Boase pulled on it. A button followed. And another. Crouching down further, Boase put his fingers underneath the wood and slowly lifted the boat. He dropped it back down quickly. A man’s body was there. Boase composed himself and lifted it again. He could see an arm and a hand. He pulled gently on the sleeve. There was a finger missing. Donald Cook! But – why here?
Boase walked back up the steps and into the Star and Garter. Enrico came to the bar.
‘Constable Boase? Archie – are you all right? You look pale.’
‘I’m fine, just had a bit of a turn, that’s all. I’ll be better in a minute. It’s probably just the heat.’
‘Let me get you a drink. Here, sit down.’
Enrico offered Boase a chair and went to fetch a jug of water. He poured the water and handed a glass to Boase who gratefully drank the contents.
‘Enrico – would you please mind telephoning to the police station and asking Inspector Bartlett to come here?’
‘You don’t need to bother the inspector – I can walk you back to the station if you like.’
‘Thanks but I really need him to come here.’
‘Is there something wrong, Archie? Can I help you?’
‘No, thanks – just the telephone call.’
‘Very well.’
Enrico went into the back hall to the telephone. Boase finished the water and felt a little better. Enrico Trewavas was doing his best but this was something he couldn’t help with.
Chapter Thirtee
n
George Bartlett arrived by car within about ten minutes of Enrico’s telephone call. He ran into the Star and Garter to find Boase still sitting on the chair. He ran across to him.
‘You all right, my boy? Enrico said you didn’t look at all well.’
‘I’m fine now, sir. Just got a bit overheated and then I had a bit of a shock. Come with me.’
Bartlett followed Boase out of the pub and down into Barrack’s Ope. They went across to the first boat.
‘It’s not good, sir. Look.’
Boase lifted up the side of the boat to reveal the body. Bartlett drew nearer and bent down.
‘The head’s gone, Boase. Did you see?’
‘Well, no, but I did see the finger was missing – and we know where that ended up, don’t we?’
‘So, this is poor Donald Cook.’
‘Looks like it, sir.’
Boase gently replaced the boat and stood up.
‘You’re still a bit shook up, aren’t you, lad? Don’t worry, I understand what awful memories this case must be stirring up. Let’s get this mess cleaned up – I’ll get someone down here now. Don’t let anyone pass through this way until it’s done.’
Boase waited by the boat until he was cleared to leave. He wandered back to the station, only pausing to look in a jeweller’s window. He wondered what sort of engagement ring Irene would like. What did people do in this situation? Did they let their girl choose a ring – or was that the man’s job? What if she didn’t like what he chose? Mulling this all over in his mind, Boase reached the police station. Bartlett was in their office.
‘There’s a fresh cup of tea there for you, Boase. Drink it while it’s hot – it’ll revive you a bit.’
‘Sir, you didn’t get a chance to tell me what the note said – about the ring and about Stephen Penfold.’
‘No, I didn’t. He’s blatant all right. I want to speak to Sheila Parsons. This time she has to tell us what she knows or she won’t see the light of day when all this comes out. Bring her up, Boase.’
Sheila Parsons sat in the chair next to Bartlett’s window. She looked pale and thin. She had eaten barely anything since she had been kept at the station. Bartlett poured her a cup of tea.
Too Many Cooks Page 15
