‘What did they look like?’
‘I couldn’t say – I could only ʼear them. Come to think of it, ʼer voice sounded a bit like yours, Mr Bartlett. Me eyes are aren’t good enough for seein’ much, like I told you.’
‘Didn’t you think to tell anyone?’
‘No. I never – I told you, things ʼappen like that ʼere all the time. A young man gets a girl down ʼere in the dark – sometimes she says yes, sometimes, no. That’s the way of the world, Mr Bartlett. Yes, women are just like boats – all right to look at but you never really know until you’ve started ʼer up and then you find out she needs too much work.’
Boase, glad of a diversion, turned as he heard a motor car coming along the road from Falmouth.
It was just after eight o’clock when the car drew up and Penhaligon, two more constables, and Stephen stepped out.
Bartlett said goodbye to Pasty and walking back up to the road, acknowledged the men.
‘You took your time, Penhaligon.’
‘I’m sorry, sir. Superintendent Greet wanted to know why you needed us all – I tried to explain.’
‘He’s still there? I thought he’d have gone home by now.’
‘No, sir. He’s still there in his office.’
‘Right. Now listen to me. You do as I say. No changing anything. Penhaligon, you take care of Stephen the whole time. You don’t let him out of your sight – do you hear me?’
‘Yes, sir.’
He turned to the two constables.
‘You two. Do exactly as I say. I don’t really know what’s going to happen – possibly nothing but you follow my orders. If anything happens to Penhaligon, you take care of the boy. Got it?’
They both nodded while Penhaligon looked at Bartlett and then at Boase, perplexed and not a little worried at what event might befall him.
Chapter Sixteen
Bartlett, having given each man instructions – as well as he could, seeing that he himself didn’t really know entirely what was going on, led the way followed by Penhaligon holding on to Stephen’s arm. The others were behind with Boase at the rear. As they made their way through the mud, Bartlett stopped and waited for Boase. Separating him from the group he spoke quietly.
‘Did you hear what Pasty said?’
‘About the couple?’
‘Yes – do you really think it was them?’
‘Dunno, sir. Like the old man said, there’s loads of couples coming down here all the time – but he said she spoke like you. Shame he couldn’t see them.’
‘Yes. If it is them then you might be right and Bull’s taken Sheila to the same place that he had Stephen locked up in.’
‘This is all my fault, sir.’
‘No time for that now, Boase. We need to find out where Stephen was held.’
Bartlett went across to the boy.
‘Do you recognise this place, Stephen?’
Stephen shook his head.
‘No, there aren’t so many buildings here.’
‘What sort of buildings?’
‘Big, smelly ones – made of wood.’
‘Like big sheds?’
‘Yes, but really smelly.’
‘What was the smell, Stephen. Fish?’
‘No – it was like Dad’s old motorcycle.’
Bartlett turned back to Boase.
‘Oil?’
‘Could be, sir. Some repair their boats here – could be oil.’
The group walked on hoping that Stephen would soon recognise something from his previous experience.
‘Boase, why do you think this place is round here?’
‘Because I went back over my notes and made a small map with the things that Stephen was able to recognise on his way back to Falmouth that night. Everything he said pointed to him having started out about here. It’s got to be right, sir. The only thing I’m worried about is that we find the place and there’s no one there.’
‘OK – we’ll keep on. What time did you tell Jim you’d return the boy? Much further and we’ll be in Truro.’
‘I just said not too late.’
Bartlett looked at his watch. It was already nine o’clock and the light was fading. They walked further until Stephen tugged Penhaligon’s sleeve. He was pointing across the river to the other shore. Across the narrow stretch of river was a small group of buildings. Boase turned to the boy.
‘Is that it, Stephen? Is that where you were locked in?’
Stephen nodded. There was no apparent way of reaching the sheds apart from by boat. Bartlett looked at Boase.
‘Well, I’m not swimming over there.’
‘So how did Stephen get from there to here – he didn’t swim?’
Stephen ran on ahead to a clump of bushes and began to scrabble through. Bartlett grabbed him by the seat of his shorts.
‘Just a minute, young man. Is that how you got out? Through here? We can’t crawl through there, Boase – we’re grown men. Stephen could only just scrape through.’
Boase bent down and pulled aside the undergrowth. He stamped on the ground a few times.
‘It’s wood, sir. I’ve seen people crossing here at low tide – I think it’s a series of planks in the mud. That must be how Stephen crossed. The tide is higher now and they’re submerged.We’ll have to steal a boat, sir.’
‘Steal a boat? Are you mad?’
‘Possibly, sir, but Bull could be over there with Sheila and we need to get there.’
Bartlett looked around him. There were several small rowing boats nearby. He pointed to one.
‘OK – that one. But we bring it straight back. Dear me, I hope Greet doesn’t get wind of this.’
As the boat was launched into the water, the moon came from behind the clouds and lit their way. All six got in and the constables took the oars. The water swished as the little boat made its way the short distance across the river. Boase hoped he’d made the right decision. No one else had suggested anything so it was worth a go. Within a few minutes the constables were pulling the boat up onto the shore and the small group had assembled under cover of some trees. Bartlett turned to Boase.
‘We’re quite close now – how do we know which one?’
Stephen was looking at the furthest shed. He pointed to it.
‘It’s that one. I remember, it’s that one.’
The group quietly made its way along the shore towards the building. It was almost dark now.
‘How shall we do this, sir?’
‘I think we should leave the boy here. Tell him to hide behind that boat – over there and not to move until we come back for him. We’ll go in the front – if we can get in. Send the others around the back.’
Boase gave Stephen a hard-boiled egg and, leaving the boy safely behind the boat, the five men, walked towards the front of the building.
‘Right, Boase, you stay with me – you three, spread out around the back. Don’t let anyone get past you, no matter what. Be careful – if Bull’s here, he’ll probably be armed.’
The three constables carefully made their way past the front of the shed and to the back. Bartlett and Boase stood at the corner of the building and waited. The front had two large wooden doors about fifteen or twenty feet in height. The pair approached. The doors were padlocked shut. To one side was a narrow gap which had an iron gate across it. Boase pointed to it silently. Bartlett could just about make out the gesture and both men moved to the side. Boase pushed the gate open. It creaked. Bartlett nudged him and both men waited silently. There was no noise and Boase tried again to open the gate wide enough for them to get through. They were in! A wooden door was ahead of them. Boase tried the handle. The door was locked. Exasperated, Bartlett rummaged quietly in his coat pocket and withdrew a penknife. He handed it to Boase. Working quickly and silently, Boase manipulated the knife back and forth along the edge of the wooden door and prised it open. He whispered low.
‘That was surprisingly easy.’
He pushed the door open and both men entered into
what appeared to be a large workshop. The oily smell was apparent now. There were a couple of small boats on the far side and numerous tools and cans of oil were thrown casually about the floor. The men peered through the gloom. No one was about. Boase stepped forward into the darkness and walked into what felt to him like an oil drum. The offending object fell against the wall and Boase grabbed it to prevent any further noise. As he did so, he felt cloth under his hand. He turned to Bartlett and whispered.
‘Petrol … looks like someone’s been burning rags – or clothes?’
They carefully walked over to the other side where the boats were. In the wall was another small door. Boase pushed this open with ease and the pair went through to the other side. They found themselves in a long corridor. As they made their way along, suddenly there was a loud crash and a light appeared a few feet in front of them. Feeling an aperture in the wall, Boase grabbed Bartlett and dragged him into it. They heard a door open at the other end of the corridor and footsteps came closer. Bartlett and Boase drew themselves tighter to the wall as the footsteps came nearer still. Just as Boase was about to lunge forward and reveal his whereabouts, another door opened and the footsteps disappeared. Both men sighed. Bartlett whispered to Boase.
‘Do you think that was Bull?’
‘Dunno. We should move.’
The two advanced further down the corridor to where the light had been seen a few minutes earlier. It was now dark again. Boase pointed to another door. They went slowly towards it. Boase tried the handle and the door pushed open. This time they were in a much smaller room. The moon was filtering through the grimy skylights and showed up another boat and a small motorcycle. Suddenly a muffled sound came from the corner of the room. The two men looked at each other and listened. Again, the same sound. Boase walked across the room to the boat. He peered in. There was a tarpaulin. All at once the moon disappeared and they were in darkness once more. Bartlett came to his aid and offered a box of matches. Boase took one from the box and struck it. Leaning over the boat, he pulled the heavy tarpaulin. As he lifted the match he clearly saw a face looking up at him. The match burnt his finger and he dropped it. He lit another. Again, the face looked up at him. Bartlett pulled the tarpaulin out of the boat and as the moon returned to beam through the skylight, Sheila Parsons could be clearly seen. She didn’t move.
‘Is she all right, sir?’
‘I think so. Wait a minute. Help me to lift her out. Take this tape off her mouth, too.’
As the two men tried to pull the girl from the boat, they heard a door open. They both turned. There in the doorway, the lantern he was holding illuminating his grinning face with the gold tooth, stood Bert Bull.
‘Well, if it ain’t the meddlin’ police again.’
‘We’ve got you this time, Bull – finally.’
‘Not yet you ʼaven’t. I was just comin’ in to ʼave a word with Sheila. Now you’ve interrupted me. I really don’t like bein’ interrupted.’
At this, he drew the large knife from behind his back, at the same time dropping the lantern to the floor. The room was dark again. Sheila screamed. Bartlett and Boase could see nothing. Boase heard Bull moving sideways across the back wall. One step at first. Then another. He pushed Bartlett back to the boat where Sheila was standing.
‘Stay there, sir.’
Boase struck a match. The blade of Bull’s knife flashed in the light. Boase, realising that Bull was quite close to him, dropped the match. Moving in a circle round the room, Boase lit another. Bull had retreated to the door again.
‘Going somewhere, Bull?’
At that, Bull leapt forward in Boase’s direction. Boase heard the rush of air as the blade cut through it. In an instant he had lit another match and tossed it forward. It fell into the trickle of lamp oil where Bull had dropped the apparatus on the floor. Combined with the amount of flammable substances present in the room, the lamp exploded into a ball of fire. The flames enveloped Bull. He ran back and forth, screaming. As the fire took hold of him, he fell to the floor and soon the room was dark again. Boase grabbed Sheila by the hand and pulling Bartlett by his sleeve, ran from the room, back through the corridor, across the large boat workshop and out into the side alley. As they ran through the iron gate and round to the front of the building, Boase released Sheila’s hand and fell to his knees, choking from the toxic fumes that he had inhaled. Bartlett was coughing too. The three constables, hearing the noise, ran to the front of the shed and to the assistance of Bartlett, Boase, and Sheila. Penhaligon sat Sheila up against a tree and, as she looked up, there was Stephen Penfold. She lifted her arms up and the boy ran to her. Boase stood up.
‘You all right, my boy?’
‘I think so – thanks, sir.’
‘That was some do, wasn’t it?’
‘I thought he had me with that knife, sir.’
‘Well, you did the only thing you could.’
‘I hope so, sir.’
‘It was you or him, Boase. Just you remember that.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Now, we need to see about getting this young man home, Penhaligon. I suppose the boat is the only way again?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Penhaligon led Sheila and Stephen to the water’s edge and the assembled group boarded the boat. As the two constables rowed, Boase slumped forward, exhausted. Bartlett nudged him.
‘Wake up, Boase. We’re here now. Come on.’
As the boat was pulled up onto the shore, someone stepped forward and offered his arm to Boase. Bartlett squinted at the volunteer.
‘Romanov? You again?
‘Yes, Inspector Bartlett. It is I, Romanov. At your service.’
The customary bow followed and Romanov led Boase back up to the road and to the car.
‘Well, I’m not even going to ask how you knew about this, Romanov. All the same I’m pleased to see you.’
At this, Romanov removed a flask from the small case he was carrying, together with two cups. He poured from the flask into the cups and handed one to Boase, the other to Sheila.
‘Thanks, Romanov. I don’t really drink.’
‘Drink it, Boase – you’ve had a shock. Just drink it.’
Boase drank the colourless liquid and winced. Sheila’s cup was already empty and she was wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Romanov had a taxi waiting and offered its use to return Stephen back home to his father.
At half past five, the exhausted group returned to the police station and headed for Bartlett’s office. Bartlett lit his pipe.
‘Well, that’s that, I suppose.’
Romanov came forward.
‘Inspector Bartlett, do you think it will be all right if I pay a visit to Dr Cook?’
‘Well, I don’t see why not, Romanov. You’re a friend of the family. Yes, he’d probably be pleased to see you.’
‘I should like very much to see him. I should have visited sooner only I have been rather busy. Am I out of trouble with you, Inspector Bartlett?’
‘Well, we’ll still need to talk to you about what’s gone on but you shouldn’t worry.’
‘Thank you – and goodbye. Goodbye, Constable Boase.’
‘You must be exhausted, Boase. Get off home for a couple of hours.’
‘I am all in, I must say, sir. What about you – it’s been a long night.’
‘I’m all right. I’ll wait for Greet – he’ll be in at about seven. I’ll let him know what’s happened then see if I can get home myself for an hour or two. Go on. Off you go.’
Boase didn’t need asking a second time. He went to the door then turned back to Bartlett.
‘Sir, you didn’t explain about that man – Pasty. Why is he called Pasty Nine Lives?’
Bartlett grinned.
‘He died eight times.’
‘What?’
‘He’s had so many accidents. From a boy, apparently. At the age of eleven his boat capsized and they thought he was a goner. Then, right up until recently he’s had mor
e serious mishaps – another seven, I believe. Every time he was certain to be dead but, up he gets as if nothing has happened. Nine lives – so that makes one more left.’
‘And Pasty?’
‘Isn’t that obvious? Now, go!’’
Boase left, taking the walk back to Melvill Road. He yawned several times, feeling tired but struggling for air. The fumes from those sheds had gone for his lungs. He hadn’t felt like this since the trenches. Diverting towards the sea front, Boase walked down to Gyllyngvase Beach and stood for a moment or two looking at the sea. He breathed deeply and soon his lungs felt a little clearer and his head refreshed. Walking back to his lodgings, he thought about what had happened that night. He felt bad but what choice did he have? It was him or Bull. He’d had a few lucky and narrow escapes in France and felt he’d been given another chance at life – he wasn’t going to give it up now. And, what of Irene? He couldn’t imagine never seeing her again. He wondered if she’d miss him. He mind went back to the friends he’d lost in France, some of them so young. How tragic that they’d never have a girl in their arms, never wake up wrapped together with the woman of their dreams. These thoughts, together with the high emotions of the night began to upset Boase and he resolved to leave them at the front garden gate as he reached the house. Entering by the kitchen door, he went upstairs and, laying across the bed, was asleep in minutes.
Bartlett left the police station at eight o’clock after a huge row with Greet. At the end of his tether and exhausted after the night’s events, he had walked out. He had arranged for Sheila to be given a lift to Jim Penfold and told Greet that he would deal with her later. Having met Bert Bull, he could see how easy it was for her to have become involved with him to the point where she couldn’t go back and fearing for her life. She’d had a lucky escape and no error. He reached his house and was pleased to fine Irene up and about. She handed him a cup of tea and, taking one for Caroline, he went upstairs for a nap.
Too Many Cooks Page 19
