by Ann Granger
'Why don't you let me tell him?' asked Minchin. He slapped both palms on the desk. 'Thank you all,' he said. 'Very much.'
They were dismissed.
T understand,' said Meredith, determined to be polite - after all, these were newcomers, strangers to the area - 'that you and the inspector are going to be staying in my cottage. I mean, it's empty. I don't live in it now. It's fully furnished and equipped. I hope you'll be comfortable.'
"Your cottage?' said Minchin heavily. 'Now why doesn't that surprise me?'
Pearce, the moment he was free, called by Markby's office to give an
account of the interview.
'Thought you'd like to be kept abreast of events, sir, as they say.' 'Absolutely, Dave. You'll report everything to Superintendent Minchin
first, naturally. He's in charge of this. But I,' said Markby in a steely
voice, 'am responsible for this outfit and I need to know what everyone
in it is doing.'
Dave Pearce, not displeased at being cast in the role of mole, made
his way to the canteen to get some lunch.
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Sergeant Prescott was already there, demolishing the last of his sausage and chips. A lively murmur of conversation which had been going on in the room ceased abruptly as Pearce entered and then resumed.
Pearce dropped his packet of cheese and tomato sandwiches on the table by Prescott. 'Mind if I join you, Steve?'
'No, sir.' Prescott pushed aside his coffee cup. 'You just missed them.'
'Missed who?'
'The men from the Met.' Prescott gave Pearce a furtive look.
'Why didn't they stay?' asked Pearce. 'Didn't like the look of the grub?'
'Think they judged the place a bit full,' Prescott told him. 'They probably wanted to talk. Mr Minchin asked me how to find Fourways. He said he needed to see the layout for himself. I offered to drive them out there but they reckoned they'd like to go on their own.' Prescott flushed and with some hesitation asked, 'What are they like?'
Pearce broke open the triangular plastic sandwich box and extracted a dry-looking wedge of brown bread. He prised the two pieces apart and looked less than impressed with the small amount of cheese and unripe tomato within. T used to bring my own,' he said. T reckon I'm going to start doing that again. This is rubbish.'
T didn't mean the sandwich, sir, I meant—'
T know what you meant, Steve. I'm sure Superintendent Minchin and DI Hayes will go through the evidence like a dose of salts and solve our case before we've got time to work out what they're doing. Show us rural plods how it's done.'
Prescott cleared his throat. T don't know if I ought to mention this, sir, but they've already got themselves a couple of nicknames.'
'That was quick,' said Pearce, who knew that the canteen liked to pin its own labels on any newcomers, especially if, like Minchin and Hayes, they stood out from the crowd.
'They, um, they're calling them Flash Harry and The Ferret.'
Pearce burst into laughter and nearly choked on his sandwich.
'Thought it'd cheer you up a bit,' said Prescott comfortably.
'It's a consolation, Steve,' said Pearce. 'Thanks for telling me.'
He wondered whether it would be out of order to pass that bit of information on to Markby and decided that, sadly, it probably would.
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At the mention of owning such a property, Hayes's attention was redirected to the house itself. 'Rum-looking place, isn't it? Like the background for a horror film, all funny shapes, pointed windows like a church and what's that turret doing stuck up there?'
'It's a folly,' opined Minchin. 'That's what they did in the old days when they had more money than they could spend. They built follies.'
'What do you reckon it's all worth?'
'Enough to kill for,' said Minchin briefly. 'Come on.'
Hayes extracted a cigarette from a crushed packet and lit up. They set off side by side in silence. Methodically they toured the outer perimeters of the property and then took it section by section. They found the potting shed and hunted their way through the contents, taking a side of the building each.
'OK?' asked Minchin.
'OK,' said Hayes. 'Provided none of 'em thinks of making a bomb. Seen those sacks of fertiliser?'
They moved on to the stables. In the old tackroom they observed signs of Ron's occupation, his camping stove and kettle, mug, jar of coffee, folded copy of the day's newspaper.
'Got himself a nice comfy little spot here,' said Hayes. 'Just what would he do to hang on to it?'
Minchin took a seat on the bench. 'We know when the gardener found the arsenic. We don't know when it went missing. The shed was unlocked. Anyone could've gone in there.' He began ticking off names on his massive fingers. 'We know Gladstone was in there. Either of the old ladies up at the house could've gone in there. The dead bloke could've gone in there, come to that. Then there's this woman, Mrs Painter. She could've gone in there when she was looking for the gardener. Either of those two other women, Juliet Painter and Meredith Mitchell, could've gone in there. There are no gates to this place. Anyone passing by could've walked in and looked around to see if there was anything he could nick.'
'Well, that bleedin' narrows it down,' said Hayes sarcastically.
'Doesn't it just?' Minchin gave a thin smile and leaned his head back against the wall. His eyes studied the interior of the tackroom, taking in the harness pegs. 'Yes,' he said softly. 'Someone would kill for this place.'
There was a scrape of footstep outside. They exchanged glances. Hayes stubbed out his cigarette on the floor and ground the butt into the dust with the sole of his shoe.
'Who's there?' asked an uncertain, elderly female voice.
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it's all right, madam." called back Minchin. it's the police/
The tackroom door creaked and Damaris Oakley appeared in the opening. She was wearing another of her late father's hats, a yellowed panama. and an old-fashioned linen dress with a tucked bodice. On her feet she had well-worn canvas shoes which had split at both toecaps.
i don't believe,' she said reproachfully, 'that I know you.'
Minchin handed over his warrant card and introduced the inspector. 'We've come down from London, madam, to give a hand.'
*Oh yes, of course. Alan said you would be coming. Why are you in here?' Damaris had studied the card carefully and now returned it. Tm Damaris Oakley.'
'Just looking around. Miss Oakley.'
'The other police, our local force, have already done that,' she told him. *Do you wish to speak to me or to my sister? My sister's taking a nap. She's found all this a great strain.'
'We don't need to trouble either of you just now,' Minchin said. 'One of us will call tomorrow when we've had a chance to bone up on the details. The inspector and I only arrived today.'
She gazed at them with a return of her uncertain manner. 'Don't misunderstand me, but I really can't see why they sent you all the way from London.'
'Ours not to question why,' said Minchin in tones which were a little too placatory.
Damaris gave him a quelling look. "Quite. Though I for one certainly hope there won't be any more dying."
The two London men look at her. startled. 'You expect another death?' Minchin asked.
'No, of course I don't. I didn't expect the first one. One doesn't,' said Damaris with asperity, i was referring to the verse you quoted. It is, of course, "theirs" not "ours", as you probably know. Theirs not to question why, Theirs but to do or die. The Charge of the Light Brigade. My father was very fond of quoting Tennyson.' She paused and reflected. 'Now I see things in that poem I never saw when I read it as a girl. Someone should have asked why, shouldn't he? Doing and dying doesn't help anyone. We shall look forward to seeing you again. Superintendent."
She departed.
is she bonkers or what?' asked Hayes.
'No . . .' An appreciative smile spread over Minchin's fa
ce. "She's a canny old bird."
'Think she'd murder someone?'
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'What? Oh yes,' said Minchin. 'If she decided on it, she'd do it. She might even see it as her duty, if he was a threat. That generation is very keen on duty. Well, let's get back to that pub we passed on the way here and see if we're not too late to get something to eat.'
They drew into the car park of The Feathers a few minutes later and climbed out of the car to subject the pub to the kind of scrutiny they'd given Fourways.
'Quite a nice old place,' said Hayes approvingly. 'Say what you like about the country, they've got some decent pubs.'
They approached the building. As the day was warm, some drinkers had established themselves outside at trestle tables. They appeared to be members of a ramblers' club, judging by their stout boots. Minchin and Hayes threaded their way through them to reach the door and stepped inside.
As if possessed of extra-sensory perception, Dolores Forbes materialised immediately in front of them, arms folded.
'More cops,' she said belligerently. 'As if I haven't had enough of answering questions. At least the other bloke came before we opened. What do you two want?'
'Just a spot of lunch, darling,' replied Minchin, taking this reception in his stride.
Dolores mellowed and unfolded her arms, giving them a better view of her magnificent bosom. 'That's all right, then. Why don't you go over there in the corner, give yourselves a bit of privacy? I'll fetch a menu. The special today is chilli con carne.'
'No bangers and mash?' asked Hayes wistfully.
'Course I can do you bangers and mash!' Dolores told him. 'Darren!'
Their attention was directed to the subdued individual behind the bar.
'Give these gents a drink on the house!'
At this Darren looked as if he couldn't believe his ears. He blinked nervously, 'Yes, Dolores.'
Dolores smiled benignly on Minchin. 'Be with you in a jiff.'
'She's a bit of all right,' commented Hayes as they settled themselves in the corner as directed, having been served with a couple of pints by Darren, who still looked in a state of shock.
'Chatty type,' said Minchin. 'Let's see what she's got to say about that house.' He jerked his head in the general direction of Fourways.
Their food arrived promptly and they set about it. First things first. Only when they'd eaten, and declined lemon meringue pudding, did Minchin turn to official matters. He betook himself to the bar where
ANN GRANGER
Dolores now presided. Darren had been demoted to some kitchen duty.
"Lovely grub," said Minchin. "We'll have another couple of pints. Have one yourself, whatever you drink.'
Thanks," said Dolores. Til have a rum and Coke. Sure you won't have the lemon meringue? I made it myself.'
'I'm tempted, believe me,' lied Minchin with impressive sincerity. 'But I've got to watch the old figure." He patted his stomach.
'Go on,' said Dolores. Tine-looking bloke like you? You don't have to worry. I like a man with a bit of meat on his bones myself."
Perhaps unfortunately Darren chose that moment to reappear in all his weediness. 'Dolores? The bakery's on the phone about those baguettes you sent back.'
'Well, deal with it, Darren!' she ordered tetchily, and he scurried away.
'My former husband.' continued Dolores to Minchin, 'was a big bloke. He used to work out at the gym. We didn't last long as a married couple, me and Charlie. He was a Londoner. I always say Londoners have got style. Not like this lot,' she concluded resentfully as one of the ramblers ventured to approach the bar.
Whilst the rambler was being served with a round of shandies, Minchin glanced up at the plate screwed to the oak lintel above the bar. It stated the name of the licensee of this establishment to be Dolores Bernadette Forbes. The only Charlie Forbes he knew of had been a bank-robber and was currently serving time in Wormwood Scrubs.
'Right,' he said, sipping his pint and exchanging a look with Hayes who was still at the corner table and had lit up. He was already surrounded by a haze of blue smoke.
Dolores had returned. 'You want to know about him, don't you, the bloke who was poisoned? He wasn't poisoned here, you know!' Her normal combative manner returned.
'Course not,' said Minchin easily and Dolores relaxed. 'He ate here, did he?'
'Every evening, cheapest thing on the menu. He didn't pay for it. The old girls were picking up the bill. He was a real sponger. I couldn't stand him. I know the type, see. Pity he got himself murdered, of course. Still, he probably asked for it.'
'Yeah, well. . .' mumbled Minchin.
Dolores, in full flow now, leaned on the bar with the result that Minchin now found himself staring down her cleavage. He closed his eyes briefly.
'The other copper who was here asked whether I'd seen that Oakley talking to anyone. I told him I hadn't. Well, only Superintendent Markby
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and his ladyfriend. But after he'd left, I remembered.' Minchin froze with his pint halfway to his mouth. 'Yes?' 'See, the other copper asked if I'd seen Oakley talking to anyone in the pub, here.' Dolores indicated their surroundings. 'That's what put me off. Because it wasn't inside the pub, it was outside, in the car park. It was on the Thursday evening. I remember because that was the first evening this year it had been hot enough for us to have much trade outside at the tables. So I was nipping back and forth in and out of the pub and that's how I saw him. I thought he'd left, Oakley, and I was surprised to see him in the car park out there, talking to a bloke who'd got out of a car. Now I knew that feller - it was Dudley Newman. He's a builder, got a lot of money and a big house. Anyway, Newman hadn't been in the pub or I'd have noticed. So I watched and after a bit of chit-chat, Oakley went on his way but Newman, he got back in his car and drove off. So,' said Dolores triumphantly, 'that means he hadn't come out here to have a drink. He'd come out here to see that Oakley, right? And what could they have to talk about? Monkey business, if you ask me.'
'Very likely, Dolores, and thanks,' Minchin raised his glass. 'Cheers!'
Dave Pearce, meanwhile, was locked in eye-contact with an Alsatian. Since Sergeant Steve Prescott had told him the newcomers had left for Fourways, he'd decided to spend his time checking out Kenny Joss. He'd made his way to Kenny's home and been directed to the garage. It was a large affair, easily housing two vehicles, and apparently fitted out as a workshop as well. A sign above the door read K. Joss. Taxi Service. A telephone number followed. Sounds of work, the scrape of metal against metal, a low tuneless whistling, indicated Kenny was inside. But between them stood the Alsatian.
It was the long-haired sort, dark brown with bright eyes. Its mouth, half-open to pant in the hot sunshine, displayed the tips of a sharp set of teeth. Dave moved a step forward. The Alsatian barked.
'All right,' said Dave to it. 'Have it your own way.' He raised his voice. 'Mr Joss?'
The sound of tinkering ceased. Kenny Joss put his head through the doorway. 'Hello,' he said. 'Don't mind the dog. He's just a big softie.'
'I'd appreciate it,' said Pearce, 'if you'd move him out of the way, all the same. Police,' he added.
T know you're the police,' said Kenny. 'Here, Bruce, go and sit down, go on.'
Bruce wagged his tail and strolled to the corner of the garage where a
ANN GRANGER
dirty scrap of blanket had been spread on the ground. He subsided on to it and put his nose on his paws, keeping his bright gaze fixed on Pearce.
'What do you want, then 0 ' asked Kenny, wiping his hands on a greasy-rag.
'It's in connection with our investigations into the death of Jan Oakley." Pearce began and was interrupted.
'I don't know nothing about that.'
'You visited the house on the day he died," countered Pearce.
'So what if I did? It was business, not what I'd call a visit. I took the two old women shopping. I take them every Saturday. Took 'em, brought 'em back. End of st
ory. What's more. I've already told one of your blokes this. He wanted to know what time I'd arrived and what time I got back. I told him. He wrote it down.'
Pearce had dealt with members of the Joss clan before and their invariable reaction to any hint of impropriety was instant and blanket denial. He therefore took no notice of any of Kenny's protestations.
'Did you go in the house?'
'Not when I called for them, no, I didn't. I had a word with Ron in the garden and then I went round to the kitchen door because that's usually open. I stuck my head through and whistled.'
'Whistled?' Pearce looked startled.
'Just to attract attention, you know. Then I called out, "Anyone at home? Taxi's here," or words to that effect. They know me. I rag them a bit. They don't mind. They're nice old girls.'
'What happened next?' Pearce doubted the Oakleys appreciated being whistled up like a sheepdog.
'Nothing happened next,' said Kenny irritably. 'They came into the kitchen. They were all ready to leave, dressed up, both got funny hats on. They followed me to the taxi and I drove them into town. I arranged what time to pick them up and where. It was the usual place, outside The Crown. That's it.'
Pearce frowned. 'Did you see if they locked the kitchen door when they left? It's got an old-fashioned lock as I remember.'
'Couldn't say. They were behind me. I doubt it. They weren't ones for locking up. Used to being there on their own. I used to tell them to be more careful.'
'Did you see Jan Oakley?'
Kenny hesitated. 'No, not when I picked them up.'
'You saw him later?'
A certain unease had entered Kenny's manner and Pearce didn't miss
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it. 'When you returned to the house, was he there?'
'Yeah, he was there,' admitted Kenny. 'I didn't speak to him. I just sort of glimpsed him.'
'Where?'
'Going out the door.'
'Which door?'
'The kitchen door.'
Pearce felt his head begin to swim. 'Let's start this again,' he said. 'Talk me through what you did when you brought the Oakleys home.'
