‘I wouldn’t say no, sir. Oh, here’s your newspaper.’
Boase placed the Falmouth Packet on Bartlett’s desk and, pulling out his chair, sat behind his. He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a paper bag.
Bartlett sat in his chair. He looked across at Boase and thought his assistant to be uncommonly subdued.
‘What are you having there?’
‘Just a piece of fruit cake, sir – want some?’
‘No thanks. You wouldn’t believe the number of papers Greet’s given me to complete – like I’ve got nothing else to do. I’ll just have a drink then I’ll get on with it. Much happen here, yesterday?’
Boase put down the cake as Penhaligon brought in two cups of tea. Boase waited until the constable had left the room before he spoke.
‘We had some bad news yesterday, sir. I didn’t want to come and bother you with it yesterday and I heard you’d be back today and I wanted to tell you myself … ’
‘Tell me what, Boase? What’s happened?’
‘It’s Sheila.’
‘Sheila Parsons?’
‘Yes. Something terrible happened. We heard first thing yesterday that she’d killed herself. I’m so sorry, sir.’
‘Killed herself?’
Bartlett leaned back in his chair and looked out of the window. He couldn’t take this in.
‘But … how? What happened?’
‘She managed somehow to get hold of a razor blade and cut herself … looks like she bled to death. They won’t admit it but my guess is they left her alone all night without checking on her. They said they found her in the morning when they unlocked the cell.’
‘Oh, no. This is my fault, Boase. All my fault.’
‘No it isn’t, sir. How could it be?’
‘Well, I haven’t seen you since I went up to Bodmin – she was in a terrible way. She asked me to get her out and I resolved to speak to Greet. Then yesterday I wasn’t here – just at home, wasting my life away and I intended to speak to him this morning. Oh! What have I done?’
‘You couldn’t have known she’d do this, sir. No one could.’
‘But I should have done something. She was in a very bad way.’
‘What could you have done even if you’d spoken to Greet? What could he have done? Nothing! You can’t ever beat the authorities on something like this.’
‘But she had so much to look forward to; she was truly sorry for what she had done. She was just misguided, that’s all. She was looking forward for the first time in her life – to being with Jim and settling down. Oh, my word – has anyone told him?’
‘I think Greet went round there yesterday, sir. He knows now.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t envy him that job – Penfold thought the world of that girl. What a business. What a world.’
‘Come on, drink your tea, sir, before it gets cold. Look here’s your paper, you haven’t even seen it yet – you know how you like to have a little look at the gossip.’
Bartlett leafed through the Falmouth Packet, scanned the article about the Trawlerman, then sighed and laid the paper down on his desk.
‘Oh, no. I don’t believe this. Well! Oh, my. It never rains but it pours.’
‘What is it, sir? What’s happened?’
‘Pasty Nine Lives is dead.’
‘Really? How?’
‘Says he was rowing across the river when he had a heart attack – looks like he fell out of the boat and drowned. What a terrible thing.’
‘That’s very sad, sir. But he was an old man.’
‘Well, yes. Looks like that was the last of his nine lives then. Poor old soul.’
Bartlett closed the paper and turned his chair to face the window. He should really quit this lark while he still had some time left. He didn’t want to die doing this job, while going about his duties. Yes, he liked the job – but he wasn’t prepared to kill himself over it. He turned back to his desk and drank his tea. As he sat there his thoughts kept returning to the future. There was Boase and Irene now, soon to be a married couple – and children, hopefully. Yes, a new generation could be on the horizon and he, Bartlett, could start winding down safe in the knowledge that he had done his best.
Bartlett and Boase series
For more information about Marina Pascoe
and other Accent Press titles
please visit
www.accentpress.co.uk
Published by Accent Press Ltd 2014
ISBN 9781783754809
Copyright © Marina Pascoe 2014
The right of Marina Pascoe to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
The story contained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Accent Press Ltd, Ty Cynon House, Navigation Park, Abercynon, CF45 4SN
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