by Adele Abbott
“Your bro?”
Just then, I heard the sound of a small motor.
“It’s Socks. Look! He’s over there.” Winky pointed over the roof tops of the buildings opposite.
“Does he have a pilot’s license for that thing?”
“Of course he does. He’s not irresponsible.”
“What’s he doing now? Why did he suddenly plummet down like that?”
“It must be the down-draught between the buildings.”
“Is he okay?”
Winky looked a little worried. “I hope so.”
We both watched as Socks tried to combat the strong downward gusts.
“He’s not going to make it,” I yelled.
“Yes, he will. He’ll be okay.”
“I don’t think—”
“Look out!”
We both dived for cover as the microlight came sailing in through the window, and slid to a halt at the far side of the room. Winky dashed over to his brother.
“Socks! Socks, are you okay?”
The black and white cat climbed out of the microlight, discarded his helmet and goggles, and embraced his brother. “Good to see you again, bro.”
***
I drove over to Anita Pick’s house. I wanted to speak to her neighbour—a woman called Roxy Blackwall. Mad had told me that Anita and her neighbour had been involved in some sort of long-running dispute.
As soon as I arrived at Anita’s house, I could see the source of the friction. In the back garden of the neighbouring house were at least seven, maybe eight, dogs running loose. There was a mix of sizes and breeds, and they all began to bark as soon as they heard me. I wasn’t in any danger because they couldn’t get over the fence, but it was still quite intimidating. I could see how this situation might have upset Anita.
As I looked over at the dogs, the door to the neighbouring house opened, and a woman stepped out. She was short with greying hair—perhaps in her early fifties. She was wearing some kind of uniform—an ambulance driver or paramedic.
“Can I help you?” she said.
“Are you Roxy Blackwall?”
“Who wants to know?”
“My name is Jill Gooder. I’m a private investigator. I’m looking into Anita’s murder.”
“I couldn’t believe it when I heard the news.” She shook her head. “Although I have to be honest, she and I never really did get on.”
“What was the reason for that, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“She was always complaining about my dogs.”
“You do have rather a lot of them.”
“Yes, but they’re all very well behaved.”
“What in particular did she complain about?”
“Oh, everything. It’s a pity she didn’t have anything better to worry about. If she’d seen the sights I see on a daily basis, then maybe she wouldn’t have worried about a few dogs barking. I see plenty of human tragedy day in, day out, and I can tell you there are more important things in life to worry about than a few dogs.”
“I understand from the Assistant Librarian that you went into the library, and had words with Anita not too long ago.”
“That’s right, and with good cause. I could put up with Anita’s constant complaining, but then she went and poisoned Jo Jo.”
“Jo Jo?”
“She was my setter. Anita killed her.”
“Do you have any proof of that?”
“No, of course not. I went to the police, but they didn’t want to know. But I know it was her. That’s why I went to the library—I would have throttled her if her assistant hadn’t pulled me off. It’s probably just as well she did, or I’d have been doing time, and who would have looked after these then?”
The dogs were getting louder, and seemed to be even more excitable.
“You’ll have to excuse me. It’s their dinner time.”
“Okay. Thanks for your help.”
***
I ran over the Anita Pick case in my mind. It seemed to me there were several people who had a motive for killing her.
The most obvious candidate was Anita’s husband, Gregory Pick. He’d stood to lose half of his money to Anita in the divorce settlement. Now she was dead, he’d probably get to keep the lot. And of course, there was his new woman, Lily Bell. She seemed even more keen to hang on to the money than Gregory.
Then there was June Fleming, the Acting Senior Librarian. She obviously felt aggrieved that Anita Pick had refused to recommend her for the Senior Librarian vacancy. But, was that a good enough reason to kill someone? It shouldn’t have been, but people have murdered for far less.
Roxy Blackwall hadn’t liked Anita Pick, and maybe with good reason if Anita had poisoned her dog.
Or of course, it could have been a random stranger. To my mind, that was still a very strong possibility.
***
As soon as I got back to my office building, I could hear voices on the landing. It was Gordon Armitage; he was with another man who was older and a little shorter. Unsurprisingly, Armitage seemed to be doing most of the talking. The other man got in the occasional, ‘But Gordon, I really think’, and ‘I’m not so sure that’s a good idea, Gordon’. But Armitage spoke over him every time. What a rude and obnoxious man Gordon Armitage was.
When I was about halfway up the stairs, Armitage noticed me, and immediately stopped talking to the shorter man.
“Well.” He glared at me. “If it isn’t our resident squatter, Miss Gooder.”
I took a deep breath. I had to resist the urge to turn him into a toad.
“I seem to recall, Gordon, that I was here first.”
The other man looked distinctly uncomfortable about our exchange.
“Maybe. But it’s only a matter of time before you move out. From what I hear, you’re barely making enough money to keep the lights on. I understand your receptionist quit earlier today.”
“Only because you poached her.”
“She’ll have a bright future with Armitage, Armitage, Armitage and Poole—which is more than you could ever offer her.”
Little did he know that he’d done me a favour taking Jules off my hands.
“Move out of my way, Gordon or I’ll be forced to knock out your lights.”
“Threats? Not very professional, Miss Gooder.” He stepped aside.
Once in the office, I was about to slam the door closed behind me when I realised the little man had followed me.
“Did you want something?”
“Sorry. No—err—I was just looking for—never mind, sorry.” And with that, he disappeared.
Who was that funny little man? One of Armitage’s minions, I assumed.
***
My big mouth had landed me with the job of putting together a women’s team for the charity BoundBall match. Instead of shelling out for an expensive advert, I’d contacted the sports desk at The Candle and told them what I was planning. They seemed keen to cover the story, and said they’d send a reporter out to talk to me.
I didn’t want to do the interview in Cuppy C; it was a little too public. So instead, I’d asked Aunt Lucy if I could meet with the reporter at her house, and she’d readily agreed.
He was due to arrive any minute.
“Well, Jill, you’ve really surpassed yourself this time.” Grandma had decided to show her face.
“What do you mean?”
“This crazy idea of yours—women versus men at BoundBall. Are you insane?”
“I thought you of all people, would be supportive. Surely you don’t buy into the ‘men are better than women’ argument.”
“Of course not. Men are far inferior, but women have never played BoundBall, so of course they’re not going to win.”
“I fully intend that our team will win.”
“If you must go through with this charade, please keep my name out of the paper. I may want to run for the Town Council again next year. Being associated with this debacle won’t do me any good at all.”
&nbs
p; “In that case, Grandma, I suggest you leave now because the reporter from The Candle will be here any minute.”
“Oh? I’d better be going then.”
Good riddance!
“Look, Jill, you can still back out of this, you know,” Aunt Lucy said. “I’m sure Annie Christy would understand. There are plenty of other things you could do to raise funds.”
“It’s too late now. I’ve already told The Candle.”
There was a knock at the door.
“It sounds like he’s here.” Aunt Lucy stood up. “I’ll go and let him in, and then leave you to it.”
“Jill Gooder I assume?” the ruddy faced man said.
“Yeah, that’s me.”
“I’m Don Roming from The Candle sports desk. I assume all this BoundBall business is a joke, is it?”
“Why would you think that?”
“You can’t seriously be planning to take on a men’s team, can you?”
“That’s exactly what we’re planning to do. It’s for charity—for SupAid.”
“I believe the men are giving you a start?”
“Yes, a hundred points.”
“Is that all? You’d need a thousand, and even then you’d struggle.”
“Look, I hope you’re going to do a balanced article.”
“Of course, what else?”
Throughout the interview, he was both condescending and patronising, but I managed to keep my cool because I needed his help. When he’d finished asking questions, I said, “Look, there’s just one more thing.”
“What’s that, dear?”
“I’d like you to include an appeal for women interested in joining our team to get in touch with me.”
He laughed. “Does that mean you don’t actually have a team yet?”
“Not a full team, no.”
“How many players do you have?”
“Not enough to make a team, as yet. So, will you include the appeal?”
“Of course. For what good it will do.”
After he’d gone, I was seething. The man was a complete moron. Well, we’d show him, and all the other men who doubted us.
Chapter 10
The next morning, as I walked up the stairs, I could hear sounds coming from the outer office. Had Winky recruited another receptionist? Perhaps someone from the fish packing industry this time?
“Mrs V? You’re back!”
“Hello, Jill.”
“How are things with your sister?”
“When I got down there, G was sitting up in a hospital bed, looking as fit as I’d ever seen her.”
“But I thought you said it was her heart?”
“It was just exhaustion. It seems she’d been doing another marathon knitting session, and she’d obviously overdone it. The fatigue must have got to her, but they ran an ECG and did blood tests. She’s perfectly fine.”
“So she didn’t mind you coming back?”
“Oh, she minded all right. She said if I cared about her, I’d stay down there for a few weeks and help her with the housework and the shopping, and anything else she could dream up. I told her, if she thinks I’m going to be her slave, she’s got another think coming!”
“It’s so good to have you back, Mrs V.”
“It’s good to be back. Did you have to get someone in?”
“Well, yes and no. We had a young girl called Jules, but she wasn’t here for very long. She was poached by that lot next door.”
“Armitage?”
“Yes. Actually, they did me a favour. She wasn’t really qualified to be a receptionist. She’d only had experience in the sausage and black pudding packing industries.”
“How very unusual. How did she get the job in the first place?”
“It’s a long story. Maybe some other time. Anyway, would you like a cup of tea?”
“That would be lovely, dear. I’ll unpack my knitting and crocheting, and get back to work.”
***
I’d spoken briefly to Jack about Anita Pick’s murder. As always, he’d played his cards close to his chest.
“What about Roxy Blackwall? She told me that she’d reported her dog had been poisoned, but the police did nothing about it.”
“That’s not true. I checked back on our records. There was a spate of dog poisonings at the time—all setters. We caught the guy not long after Roxy Blackwall’s dog was killed.”
“She still seems to be under the impression it was Anita Pick who did it.”
“One of our uniformed officers should have updated her. And besides, it was all over The Bugle.”
“Washbridge’s quality tabloid?”
“None other.”
I’d asked Jack if he’d have a word with the security company, so they’d allow me to view their CCTV. He hadn’t been very enthusiastic at first, but then I reminded him that I’d spotted something his people had missed during the ‘murder in the lift’ case, and he eventually agreed to let me take a look at it.
The security company confirmed what June Fleming had already told me, that the only security cameras active around the library were those focused on the front door.
Jack had said I should ask for a Mr Saize.
“Jill?” A young man with spiky black hair came bouncing into reception.
“Mr Saize?”
“Please call me Simon.”
Simon Saize? Priceless!
“What exactly are you looking for?” Simon said.
“I don’t actually know. Can I just go through the tape for that day? Is that possible?”
“Certainly—Detective Maxwell said we were to give you full access.” Simon led me to a small office which had a single desk and a chair. Then he logged into the computer, set up the recording, and walked me through the controls.
“If you need anything, just pick up that phone, and dial two-three-five.”
I was working a hunch. I knew Mad hadn’t murdered Anita, so there had to be at least one other person in the library after the doors had been locked. My plan was to count everyone who entered or left the library from the moment the doors opened in the morning until they were locked again in the evening. It was going to be a long, boring job, which was why I’d brought a packet of custard creams and a can of ginger beer with me.
I started the recording from the point where the doors were due to be opened. There were already four people waiting outside. I had a notepad, and for every person who went in, I made a stroke on the top of the page, and for every person who left the building, I made a stroke at the bottom of the page. Even though I was fast-forwarding through the tape, it was still a soul-destroying task, but I could think of no other way to do it. The only other way into the building was through the fire escapes. But, if someone had used those, they would have set off the alarm, and there had been no reports of it going off on that day.
Another two people in—three out. The time on the recording showed it was mid-afternoon. Two more in—four out. At long last, I could see that the doors had been locked. My figures showed two hundred and twenty people in; two hundred and nineteen people out. That meant one person was still in the building, unless I’d missed someone or wrongly recorded the numbers. I was now fairly confident that someone else was still in the building after the library had shut.
A few minutes later, Simon came in to check on me.
“How’s it going?”
“Okay, thanks, but the next part is going to take much longer.”
“What exactly are you looking for?”
I explained my theory—that someone was still in the building when the doors were locked.
“Now, I need to find out who it was. The only way to do that is to go through the tape again, and make a brief note about each person who enters the building—a simple description should suffice. Then, as each person leaves the building, I can cross that person from my list. If my theory works, I should be able to identify the person who didn’t leave.”
“I could do that for you, if you like?”
“For a small fee.”
“How small?”
“A hundred pounds?”
It was hardly a ‘small’ fee, but it was well worth it if it saved me from having to do it.
“When?”
“I’ll have to do it in between working my own job, so it might take a few days, but I could start straight away if you like?”
“That would be great.”
“I’ll need fifty pounds up front.”
“I’ll give you thirty now, and the rest when you’ve identified the person who went into the building, but didn’t come out.”
“Done.”
***
Winky was fast asleep on the sofa when I got back to the office. What a little cutie! He looked so peaceful. There was no sign of Socks. Winky’s flags were on the windowsill. Maybe he’d been giving Socks semaphore lessons?
I glanced across the street, and saw Bella in her window. Maybe she was looking for Winky? Perhaps I should wake him; he’d be disappointed if he missed her.
“Winky!” He didn’t stir.
I glanced again at Bella. This time, there was another cat sidling up to her. Oh dear, Winky wouldn’t be happy.
“What’s all the noise about?” Winky yawned.
I looked back at Bella, and that’s when I recognised the other cat. It was Socks—he and Bella seemed to be very friendly.
“What are you staring at?” Winky said. “Is Bella there?”
“Err—Bella? Your girlfriend? Err—No. There’s definitely no Bella over there.”
“Are you sure? She said she’d be there later.”
“No. Definitely no Bella.”
He got up. “Move out of the way. Let me have a look.”
“Pardon?”
“Come on. You heard me—move out of the way.”
I picked up his flags, and held them out to him. “Why don’t you show me some semaphore?”
“Have you gone crazy, woman? Get out of my way.”
Oh well. I’d tried. I stepped to one side, and Winky jumped into the windowsill. Any second now, he’d go ballistic.
“Bella gets more beautiful every day.” He sighed.
