by June Francis
‘No doubt the detective inspector will search the ground looking for clues,’ said Tilly. ‘It’s just like a crime novel.’
‘You’re right,’ said Sergeant Jones, a faint smile playing round his mouth. He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. ‘Let’s get back to the house. I’d like to telephone headquarters. No doubt they’ll want me to stay here and keep an eye on things until they arrive.’
It was as he said and while he waited, Joy made another pot of tea and some toast and they all sat at the kitchen table. The sergeant asked Mal a few more questions and made notes and Tilly was relieved that without her saying a word, her father made no mention of when he had first found the body.
Once the sergeant finished his questioning, Tilly asked him about Seb’s mother. ‘I did hear that she’s been performing on stage.’
‘That’s right,’ said Sergeant Jones, his ruddy face breaking into a smile.
‘Another cup of tea, Sergeant?’ asked Joy.
He thanked her. ‘Gabrielle still has a lovely voice for her age.’
Tilly said, ‘Do you think she’d like to sing in a concert that’s being put on in aid of the Seamen’s Widows and Children in the autumn? I’m going to be playing the piano.’
‘I’ll ask her,’ said the sergeant. ‘Gabrielle has a soft spot for orphans and has performed in a concert for the Waifs and Strays, as well as other charities.’
Tilly wondered what her sister would make of that news. ‘Her grandchildren would love to see her, they especially miss her making those macaroons,’ she said.
He smiled. ‘I’ll mention it to her.’
Tilly thanked him, thinking Seb and the children would be pleased if Gabrielle made the effort to visit them. With that settled, they talked about other things. Not long afterwards, the detective inspector arrived with a constable and an ambulance. The inspector spoke to the sergeant and was shown the body. The surrounding area was inspected and after he had a few words with Mal, Joy and Tilly, the body was removed and the police left.
‘Just like that,’ said Joy, making yet another pot of tea.
‘I suppose if it had been a recent murder then they’d have left a constable on guard,’ said Tilly.
‘They’ll be back,’ growled Mal. ‘That inspector told me not to fill in the hole but if yer ask me he’s wasting his time if he thinks he’ll find some clues. The rain will have washed anything away by now. Still, he’ll be wanting to speak to Eudora and her man.’
Joy groaned. ‘I’m just hoping she won’t be annoyed with me. She might be sorry not to have seen the body. She might have got some vibes from it.’
‘What d’you mean?’ asked Tilly.
‘With her being a medium! She might have been able to sense something while the body was still there,’ said Joy. ‘I didn’t think about it at the time.’
‘Too late now,’ said Tilly, thinking that she would have liked Grant to have seen the body, too, with him being an ex-policeman and a private investigator.
‘The body might have left an impression in the ground,’ said Mal. ‘His spirit could—’
‘What do you know about such things, Dad?’ asked Tilly, surprised.
‘I’ve listened to her talking about the spirit world often enough over the years. If it can happen in a house then maybe it can in the ground,’ he said.
Joy got to her feet. ‘I think I’ll get on with my vacuuming.’
‘Is there anything I can do?’ asked Tilly.
‘If you’re hanging around waiting for Mrs Bennett to come back, then you might as well help me. Do some polishing and then perhaps you can play us some music. Get in some practise for this concert.’
‘It’s ages off yet,’ said Tilly. ‘But I don’t mind if I do,’ she added, thinking some music might soothe them all.
She was still playing the piano when the Bennetts returned. By then it was nightfall and they had been shopping. Joy got to them first and was pouring out all that had happened.
‘We’ve got a torch, haven’t we, Robbie?’ asked Eudora. ‘I want to see this grave.’
Tilly had not thought about the trench being a grave but now she did and it made her feel all peculiar. She watched as Robbie opened a drawer in the dresser and took out a flashlight. ‘Come on, Mal, you can show us the way,’ he said.
They all followed him out into the garden.
‘Well, I certainly never expected this when I moved here,’ said Eudora, gazing into the trench by the light of the torch.
‘It has to be murder, doesn’t it?’ said Tilly.
‘Not necessarily,’ said Robbie. ‘It could have been an accident and the person responsible panicked and felt they had to get rid of the body.’
‘Surely the dead person would have been reported missing,’ said Tilly.
‘And why bury him here?’ asked Joy. ‘And his cheekbones were smashed. It must be someone local.’
‘I suppose they’ll have to go through the missing persons lists from a few years ago,’ said Robbie.
‘That will only work if he was actually reported missing and maybe he wasn’t,’ said Eudora.
‘Can they find out with any accuracy when he died?’ asked Tilly.
Robbie shrugged. ‘I don’t really know.’ He smiled at her. ‘I’ll drive you home, Tilly. The streets aren’t always safe these days and I want to have a word with my sister.’
She was glad of his offer but first she needed to know something before she left. ‘When will you next need me, Mrs Bennett? I have another part-time job and I’ll be working tomorrow for Mr Simpson.’
‘Mr Simpson, the detective,’ said Eudora.
Tilly nodded and told her how the job had come about.
‘I can see I’ll have to be more organised with the times you work for me, dear. Shall we say you’ll work for the charity all day Saturday?’
Tilly agreed. It meant she could work for Grant on Thursday and Friday if he wanted her. In the meantime, she could not wait to get back to the shop and tell the Wrights about the body in the garden.
Mrs Wright was surprised to see her brother. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Tilly’s father found a body in the garden,’ he answered. ‘So as it’s been a bit of a shock all round I thought I’d not only drive Tilly home but take the opportunity to check with you and ask Pete if he’ll perform in the concert for the orphans in the autumn.’
‘Never mind that right now! What’s this about a body?’ asked Mrs Wright.
‘Tilly can explain. She knows more than I do about it,’ said Robbie. ‘And the concert is important, Rita. You will let Pete perform? The more experience he gets at playing in public the better.’
She frowned. ‘I don’t know. He could be better off serving an apprenticeship in the building industry.’
Robbie scowled. ‘He has a talent. Besides, have you read the newspapers that you sell recently? There’s a million unemployed and although that includes the entertainment business, in my opinion that will boom again. I’m going now. What with the break-in and now this body, I can’t be staying here discussing it with you. Eudora needs me.’
He left.
Tilly and her landlady exchanged looks.
‘Well?’ asked the older woman. ‘What about this body?’
Tilly began to tell her what had happened. As she did so, she began to think of a way she might use it in her novel. This story was not going to be the romantic adventure she had originally planned but much more realistic and gritty.
Chapter Sixteen
The following morning Tilly was waiting outside the office with a bottle of milk when Grant turned up. ‘Good morning, Miss Moran. You’re nicely on time and you’ve bought milk, that’s good.’
‘Good morning, Mr Simpson. Did you have a successful day yesterday?’
He grimaced and took out his keys and slipped one in the lock. ‘In one way I had something of a frustrating day but I’ve thought of a way you can help me.’ He pushed open the door, picked up a couple
of envelopes from the floor and led the way upstairs.
Tilly put the door on the latch and followed him up. It was not until they were inside the office and she had put the kettle on that she told him about yesterday. ‘I presume you didn’t call in at Wright’s shop first thing this morning, Mr Simpson?’
‘No. I’d overslept, so was in a bit of a rush and I didn’t want to keep you waiting outside.’
‘Dad found a body buried in the Bennetts’ garden.’
His eyebrows shot up. ‘You’re joking!’
‘No! Honestly. It had been there for some time.’
‘I presume Mr Bennett sent for the police.’
‘Joy did. The Bennetts were out and didn’t come in until the sergeant and the detective inspector had been and gone and the man’s body was taken away.’
Grant let out a low whistle. ‘Well, I never. How did he die?’
‘His cheekbones were smashed, so someone must have hit him in the face but I didn’t look too closely at him. It was Joy who noticed that.’
‘Any means of identification on him?’
She poured milk into cups and, keeping her eyes down, said, ‘He was in his birthday suit, Mr Simpson.’
‘Bloody hell!’ exclaimed Grant. Then he apologised for swearing, adding, ‘Someone really didn’t want him identified.’
‘We wondered if he was reported missing and how the police will go about tracing him. What if it was a relative or a lover who wanted him out of the way and they’ve kept quiet?’ asked Tilly.
‘I don’t envy the police the task of identifying him. You’d be amazed at how many people just walk out of their jobs or homes without saying where they’re going.’
‘So you reckon it’s easy to disappear?’
Grant did not answer because he was opening the post and had extracted a sheet of paper from an envelope. Tilly wondered if he had heard her question but realised that he had a moment later.
‘Yes. But if someone really wants them found it can be done, but it takes a lot of time and patience. People need money to support themselves and that generally means finding a job, and that’ll be on record. Also, there’s a limit to how much a person can alter their appearance. Height isn’t so easy, neither is the colour of one’s eyes. This letter,’ he tapped the sheet of paper with a finger, ‘it’s from a client and you won’t find the case in the files. It’s from a so-called gentleman and he wants to know how I’m getting on tracing a woman he wants found. He hasn’t even signed this letter with his proper name because he doesn’t want a scandal.’
‘Can you tell me why he wants her found?’ Tilly’s hazel eyes gleamed with interest.
‘Two months ago a woman knocked on his door and thrust a baby into his arms and said, ‘This is yours!’
Tilly gasped. ‘And was it?’
‘He’s admitted to having had an affair.’
‘Is he married?’
Grant smiled. ‘Good question. As it happens he isn’t but he is engaged to be married. He is still living at home with his mother. It was bad luck on him that before he could chase after the woman with the baby, his mother came out of the house. Now she wants to keep the little girl. She’s a rich widow and, according to him, used to getting her own way. He’s her only son and she’s forever threatening to change her will if he crosses her. He’s worried that his mother might leave everything to the child. He’s absolutely furious and wants the mother found and the baby returned to her.’
‘Am I to understand, if he’s asked you to trace her, that she’s moved from where she was when he was having his affair with her?’
Grant nodded. ‘She’s an actress with a touring repertory company.’
‘So all you have to do is to find the company and hope they’ll know where she is,’ said Tilly, utterly absorbed in the story.
‘Yes. But it’s not that easy. He’s forgotten the name of the company.’
‘What about the name of the play she was in?’
Grant gave a nod of approval. ‘You have got a brain in your head. My client! He doesn’t even remember the name of the play. What he does remember is the theatre and the name of the role she played.’
‘That’s something,’ said Tilly. ‘I’m surprised that in the circumstances he isn’t concerned that she might blackmail him.’ No sooner had she spoken than Tilly realised the kettle was boiling merrily away and she had not noticed. She switched off the gas and poured water into the teapot.
Grant looked at her thoughtfully. ‘You know, Miss Moran, he told me that one of the reasons he wants her found is to give her money to help look after the baby. He said he believes a child should be with its mother.’
‘And did you believe him?’
‘I admit that I thought it might be a way of him buying her off.’
‘But what if she doesn’t want to be bought off? What if she wants to continue with her career as an actress and doesn’t want the child?’
‘You know, you’re good at this,’ said Grant admiringly. ‘I doubt that’s occurred to him. He thinks she’s left the baby with him because she wants to punish him.’
‘Then I’m amazed he hasn’t thought of the blackmail angle,’ said Tilly, handing Grant’s tea to him. ‘Can you tell me what you’ve done so far to trace her?’
‘I’ve visited the Playhouse and spoken to the manager. He was able to tell me the name of the play once I gave him the name of the character.’
‘So from that did you get the name of the company?’
Grant nodded. ‘Trouble is he had no idea where the company is playing right now and he didn’t have time to give me any more help.’
‘Surely he must have the name of the manager of the company.’
‘He said he has it somewhere. I need to go back and ask him for it.’
‘He might have the manager’s home address, too.’
Grant smiled. ‘Maybe.’
‘So you’ll tell your client all that when you write back to him?’ asked Tilly.
‘I’ll dictate and you can type it out and see it goes off today.’ He added cheerfully, ‘I suppose I’d better do a bit more on this case. I’ve earned the retainer he gave me but now I need more money from him if he wants me to continue. Travelling expenses for a start. It’s likely I’ll need to travel elsewhere in the country. At least I have her stage name and a photograph.’ He opened a drawer and produced a photograph. ‘What do you think?’
Tilly gazed down at the black and white print and agreed with him that the girl really was a dark-haired beauty. She appeared to be only a couple of years older than herself. ‘No wonder she didn’t want to give up her career. Although she should have thought of that before having an affair with our client, Mr X.’
Grant returned the photograph to the drawer. ‘Once I get an answer from him, I might need you to take over from me on the other case I’m working on.’
Tilly felt a thrill of excitement. ‘You mean you want me to watch the client’s wife. The one who’s worried she might be having an affair?’
He nodded. ‘Unless I get it all tied up before I go off on my travels, but the way things are going so far I can’t see that happening. So give it a few more days then you can probably take over from me,’ said Grant. ‘And thinking about that I need to know what days you’ll be working for me and which you’ll be working for Mrs Bennett.’
‘She doesn’t need me until Saturday so I can be here in the office tomorrow as well as today,’ said Tilly.
‘Perhaps if you ask her about doing Saturdays, Mondays and Tuesdays for her and Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays for me. Unless something important comes up, which means that we have to change those days,’ said Grant.
Tilly agreed to suggest it to Mrs Bennett. ‘Although it’s Good Friday this Friday, so I won’t be in, and I must remind her that it’s Easter Monday on Monday, so I won’t be working that day either.’
‘Right,’ said Grant, blowing out a breath. ‘I’m glad you remembered it was the Easter weekend.’
She sat at the typewriter, placed paper and carbon in the machine and waited for him to dictate his answer to Mr X’s letter.
* * *
Tilly was thinking about Mr X and whether Grant had received an answer to his letter as she walked along the pavement past Leonard Parker’s house on Saturday morning. The sudden growling and then barking of a dog startled her and she stepped back as the head of an Alsatian appeared above the fence. The dog’s front paws rested on the top of the wood and for a moment she thought it was going to attack her. She screamed.
‘Steady, Fang,’ said a male voice.
Fang! Tilly could see why the dog had been given that name and shuddered. A hand appeared and gripped the dog’s collar. She watched as Leonard Parker clipped on a lead and, by sheer brute strength, dragged the Alsatian away from the fence. ‘I’m sorry if he frightened you, Miss Moran. But what with all the goings-on lately my aunt pleaded with me to get a guard dog.’
‘It’s all right. I shouldn’t have screamed,’ said Tilly, trembling. ‘You’ll think me a coward.’
‘Your reaction was understandable. If he has the same effect on any burglars or murderers I’ll delighted.’ The dog began to bark again and he thwacked it with the thick end of the lead. ‘Shut up, Fang.’
‘He’d tear out their throats,’ muttered Tilly.
‘Rather that than I was murdered in my bed,’ said Leonard, smiling.
Tilly said, ‘I’d rather not think about either of those things. I wish people would respect the law. Poor Nanki Poo.’
‘It was a shame he was killed,’ said Leonard regretfully. ‘He was unusual and I shouldn’t wonder if he was worth a few bob.’
‘Of course. He was a pedigree dog,’ said Tilly. ‘I suppose it was your aunt who told you about the body?’
‘Yes! But if she hadn’t I’d have found out the next day because the police came knocking on my door asking questions.’
‘What kind of questions?’ Tilly could not resist asking.
‘Damn foolish ones!’ he said, sounding exasperated. ‘Can I think back a few years and remember any commotion out of the ordinary going on in next door’s garden? Did the old lady have any visitors? I ask you! I reminded them that there was a war on – and although I tried to keep my eye on the old girl because I felt sorry for her – I had lots of more important things on my mind. If my father had still been alive then he might have been able to tell them something. They then asked if I remembered anyone going missing in the drive or if I had seen any strangers. I reminded them that there’s a park opposite and people are always coming and going.’
