Miss Pink Investigates- Part Four

by Gwen Moffat

  She stood her ground. ‘Why didn’t you ask — There’s a man on duty, I take it?’

  ‘Yes, and cars, lots of cars. Something terrible’s happened. I can’t take this — I’m going back there —’ He turned to rush away.

  ‘Wait!’ She moved to the doorway. Murray came after her and the three of them stared across the churchyard. ‘There’s no hurry,’ she said. ‘If the police are there —’

  ‘I have to know what’s happened. The reason I didn’t ask was because it doesn’t have to be connected with her, see? It could be that someone’s shot up — injected — in the yard, an overdose; could have been just a drunken brawl, a stabbing. I mean, in the open, nothing to do with the house.’

  ‘Perhaps you should stay clear.’ Murray was diffident. He glanced at Miss Pink.

  ‘It might be prudent,’ she said carefully, knowing it was definitely so. ‘Have you known all along that she was there?’

  ‘Only since yesterday. I really did think she was in Scotland before, but yesterday she called me again and wanted to talk.’

  ‘You went there?’

  ‘Of course. After dark. There’s a way in at the back, a door in the garden wall. She unbolted it for me. She climbed in over the wall herself.’ He grinned, then sobered and was frantic again.

  ‘Did you go inside the house?’ Miss Pink asked.

  He nodded. So his fingerprints would be everywhere. If anything had happened to Perry — and suddenly she thought of Jonty Robson.

  ‘I’m going across,’ Rick said.

  ‘No. I’ll go.’

  ‘What’s your excuse?’ Murray asked, and she wondered if he knew more than was apparent.

  ‘I’ve learned she was there, from Rick, and I’ve gone to see if she’s all right — in view of the activity. I’ll bluff my way in somehow.’ She didn’t know how but if this was the only way to stop Rick incriminating himself, she had to make an effort. Now why should he be incriminated?

  *

  ‘As if we didn’t have enough on our plate!’ Tyndale stared gloomily at an overturned garden pot spilling compost and wilted petunias. There was no shade in Whelp Yard and the Scenes of Crime people were taking their time getting here.

  ‘We could stand just inside the front door,’ Mounsey pointed out. ‘Kitchen window’s open, there’d be a through-draught.’

  ‘Dream on, lad. This isn’t a domestic. He’s taken the body away, not to mention the weapon; no one else goes in that house till SOCO arrives. Now what?’

  A uniformed man had entered the yard from Doomgate. ‘There’s a Miss Pink, sir, says she’d like a word. She’s a bit — firm.’

  She was waiting in the sunshine on the other side of the tapes, looking cool in a pale blue safari suit and a straw hat.

  ‘I’m looking for Perry,’ she said. ‘Is she all right?’

  Tyndale studied her face then motioned to an unmarked car, all its windows down. They sat in the back.

  ‘You said she was in Scotland.’ he said. ‘What makes you think she’s in that yard?’

  ‘I thought she was in Scotland. She’s a runaway; she saw the police activity some days ago, thought you were after her, and bolted. Apparently this is where she holed up.’

  ‘Where exactly?’

  ‘In a house.’ She couldn’t conceal her anxiety. ‘Please tell me, Mr Tyndale, has something happened to her?’

  ‘She’s not there.’

  ‘Then why are you here?’

  ‘There’s been an accident in a house, and it’s the place where she — where someone was living. Squatting, rather. The owners came back from holiday today and discovered it.’

  ‘What did they discover? An accident? To whom?’

  ‘We don’t know. There’s evidence of foul play.’

  ‘But no body?’

  ‘No body, ma’am.’

  She looked out at the brilliant Street. Small children with bicycles had collected in front of the garages on the other side of Doomgate. Behind her, had she looked over her shoulder, she would have seen the rear of Nichol House. Her thoughts were on Robson however. She wondered when Rick would remember him.

  ‘When did you see her last?’ came Tyndale’s voice.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Perry — What’s her last name?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She saw his disbelief. ‘She didn’t say. She didn’t

  trust anyone.’

  ‘And you saw her last...?’

  She had to concentrate. ‘I haven’t seen her for three days.’

  ‘How long was she living here?’

  ‘It can’t be more than three days.’

  ‘You came here, visiting her?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I didn’t know she was here.’

  ‘Until when?’

  ‘This afternoon. Just now; I was in the bookshop...’

  ‘And?’

  She was making matters worse with her enigmatic responses, and not protecting Rick at all. Tyndale was going to discover his involvement in no time.

  ‘Rick Harlow — the man who was with me when we found the skeleton — he told me she was here, in Whelp Yard.’

  ‘Why didn’t he come himself?’

  ‘Because if the girl is on the run he didn’t want to attract attention to her. You could be here for some reason quite unconnected with her.’

  He didn’t believe her. What was worse, she wasn’t sure whether she believed Rick herself. She felt frustrated and depressed; she shouldn’t have come, but she hated to think how Rick would have acquitted himself, sitting in the hot shade of this car, staring at the entrance to the yard, tormenting himself with the thought of Perry injured or even dead, answering questions with wild abandon.

  ‘Can’t you tell me anything of what’s happened?’ she pleaded. "‘Evidence of foul play"? What’s that? Blood?’ He frowned. ‘Blood,’ she said. ‘How much of it?’

  But more vehicles were drawing up and men emerging from them with bulky equipment. This looked like a murder investigation.

  ‘I have to leave you now,’ Tyndale said. ‘Where can I find you later?’

  ‘I have a flat above the bookshop in the churchyard. I shall be there —’ She cut it short, having been about to say, ‘or at Nichol House,’ but remembering in time that if it were murder anyone could be suspect, but particularly men who had known Perry.

  She started to get out of the car and, glancing towards the churchyard, saw Rick approaching. Tyndale, coming round the back of the vehicle, looked to see what had alerted her, and smiled thinly. ‘Saves me a journey,’ he said.

  She thought of putting on a garrulous act, but if she did he could well dismiss her, and momentarily she was forgotten. He was focused on Rick.

  ‘What’s happening?’ The man was breathless, addressing Tyndale, flicking an eye at Miss Pink who stared and said nothing.

  ‘There’s been an accident,’ Tyndale said.

  ‘Who? Who to?’

  ‘Inside the house.’

  ‘Perry?’

  ‘Why?’ Tyndale asked.

  ‘Why? She was there: squatting.’ Rick glowered, no longer bothered about misdemeanours.

  ‘I meant, why kill her?’

  ‘No...’ It was a sigh more than an exclamation. He turned to Miss Pink, shaking his head in denial, pleading.

  She took pity on him, cursing Tyndale. ‘There’s no body,’ she said firmly. ‘Merely evidence of an accident —’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am,’ Tyndale grated, furious. ‘I know where I can find you.’

  ‘So where’s Perry?’ Rick demanded of him.

  ‘Tell me about her.’

  The fellow was a chameleon. Having dismissed Miss Pink in a temper, he was suddenly man-to-man, oily. She started to retreat.

  ‘Wait!’ Rick cried, scrabbling in his pocket. He produced a key and tossed it to her. ‘Look after Bags,’ he ordered, and turned back to the inspector with a grin like a snarl. She didn’t like that dire
ction about Bags; he was anticipating a protracted session with the police.

  She crossed Doomgate and entered the churchyard, casting a speculative glance at the closed front door of Nichol House but continuing to the bookshop. Dave Murray was alone but he’d seen her coming through the tombstones and was eager for information.

  She told him what she’d learned, adding that she’d left Rick with Tyndale. ‘What’s your interest?’ she asked bluntly.

  ‘A mystery a few yards away? Isn’t that reason enough, without me knowing the chap who’s keen on the girl — well, in love with her, judging by the state he’s in.’

  ‘Yes, he wears his heart on his sleeve.’

  ‘What? How quaint, but true, yes.’

  ‘Do you know her?’ Miss Pink asked.

  ‘No. I saw her. He came in here — when was it? A couple of days ago, bought The Second Jungle Book. Said it was for his lady, would you believe! Looked like a dreamy poet. So I had to see this paragon. She was sitting on that seat under the maple there. That yellow hair! What is it, a crew-cut growing out? And thin as a rake, face like something peeping out of a hedge bottom. What’s she like?’

  ‘A street kid, but adaptable.’ She thought about that while Dave studied her face. ‘She can take care of herself — although this time she seems to have been caught out.’

  ‘You said there’s no body.’

  ‘That’s what Tyndale said. But he wouldn’t lie about a body.’

  ‘He could be keeping a lot back all the same. Cops aren’t exactly the soul of honesty — or virtue, come to that. They’re going to give Rick a hard time.’

  ‘Why?’ She thought he was right but she wanted to know why he thought so.

  ‘Why? He’s been there — that’s the Hoggarths’ house she was living in: a couple of ageing yuppies who were in Guatemala. Rick will have left his fingerprints.’ He paused. ‘What’s happened to her? I mean — how much blood is there? Enough to warrant —’

  The shop darkened as Clive Thornthwaite stepped inside. He nodded to Miss Pink and raised his eyebrows at Dave. ‘What’s going on? Doomgate’s full of police cars.’

  ‘You tell him,’ Dave said. ‘You were there.’

  Clive listened with a kind of wry astonishment. He wouldn’t know any of the people involved of course — at least, those known to be involved: Perry and Rick. There had to be at least one other.

  ‘I’ll need to get back and warn the others,’ he said.

  ‘Warn them?’ Miss Pink repeated.

  ‘Some of our back windows overlook Doomgate. The cops will want to know if we saw anything.’ He pondered. ‘He’d have to carry the body down the passage to Doomgate.’

  Miss Pink gasped. ‘There’s an entrance into the garden at the back,’ she said weakly.

  ‘It’s kept bolted,’ Dave said. She turned to him, speechless. ‘All back entrances are bolted or locked even in this town,’ he assured her.

  ‘Rick said he went into the house that way.’

  ‘She’d bolt it after he left.’

  ‘Possibly she didn’t. She could have forgotten.’

  ‘He could have taken the body out that way then,’ Clive said. ‘He’d have had a car in Chapel Street.’

  Miss Pink said desperately, ‘We don’t know there was a body.’

  ‘I was asking,’ Dave said, ‘how much blood there was. Enough to assume a death?’

  She shook her head. ‘I didn’t go inside. I suppose we’ll know soon enough,’ she added miserably. ‘And before the police find me I must go and rescue Perry’s dog.’

  Bags was overjoyed to see her, although she suspected he would have welcomed anyone who would deliver him from an empty house. His lead was hanging on a hook in the tiny vestibule, half of which had been blocked by a rough wooden partition. Momentarily diverted she tried to guess its purpose and, moving to the side, fending off the excited dog, she discovered a cupboard door. Of course, this had been one house and the stairs had been blocked off. Edith Bland had her own entrance at the side of the building.

  In the yard, where Bags was forced to relieve himself immediately, she glanced up and saw movement in the fold of a net curtain. Edith was keeping an eye on visitors.

  They went down to the river where Bags paddled after the ducks and Miss Pink strolled from one end of the paved walk to the other, pondering Perry’s circle of contacts, recalled to her surroundings only when the dog emerged from the water. She put him on the lead and started back.

  Rick had not come home. She would no more leave the collie alone for an indeterminate period than she would leave a child. She found some cans of dog food and a bag of hound meal in the kitchen and retreated, locking the front door. A heavy woman in Crimplene slacks and scarlet mules was shaking a mat at the side entrance. She paused and eyed Miss Pink’s load.

  ‘Where’s Mr Harlow?’ she asked suspiciously. ‘You were in his house.’

  ‘He lent me the key.’ Miss Pink would say no more than was necessary at this moment. ‘You must be Mrs Bland. I’m Miss Pink.’

  ‘I hope he’s not been took sick.’

  ‘He was quite well last time I saw him.’

  Edith stared at Bags with dislike. ‘That dog come with the girl. Where’s she gone then?’

  Miss Pink hesitated. ‘I understand she left.’

  ‘Why didn’t she take the dog?’

  ‘They’re a nuisance when you’re hitch-hiking.’ Miss Pink smiled vacantly.

  After a moment the woman said — blurted rather: ‘When’s he coming back? It’s not nice to be living upstairs and not know who’s moving about underneath.’

  ‘I’ve got the key, so anyone in the flat has to be him or me.’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t know you, do I?’

  Miss Pink opened wide eyes. ‘Do I look that suspicious?’

  ‘I don’t know I’m sure. You could be anybody.’

  Miss Pink studied the woman. Recent events might account for this streak of paranoia. ‘Of course!’ she breathed. ‘You were Joan Gardner’s friend.’

  ‘That’s got nowt to do with it!’ Edith threw a frantic glance sideways towards Nichol House. ‘You want to be asking her about Joannie Gardner: her and her grand house forbye her man’s —’ She stopped and glared.

  ‘You’ll have known Walter Thornthwaite,’ Miss Pink said pleasantly.

  ‘Aye.’ Edith paused. ‘Everyone did. Who told you about him?’ She studied the older woman: her age and clothes, the load of dog food. ‘You’re a reporter,’ she ventured. Miss Pink raised an eyebrow. ‘I don’t see why I should tell you.’ Edith was truculent. ‘It’s none o’ your business. Besides, I didna know the man.’

  ‘Really? It was a tiny village; a lot of people were related. One way or another.’

  ‘He were a neighbour, but not close.’

  ‘A sly lusty fellow.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘It’s what you told Mr Harlow.’

  There was a longer pause. ‘Maybe,’ Edith said grudgingly.

  Miss Pink nodded and walked away, thinking that the difference between herself and Rick — his success, her failure — was that he brought a bottle of cherry brandy to the interview.

  Dave Murray stopped her before she could reach her front door. ‘Message for you,’ he called. She waited for him to disengage himself from an elderly couple.

  ‘From Anne Fawcett,’ he said, coming to the door. ‘Will you go over to the house?’

  She deposited her load inside her door and went back through the churchyard to Nichol House. Clive broke into a smile as he opened the door. ‘Ah, good! It’s her!’ he called over his shoulder. ‘Mum’s concerned,’ he whispered. ‘Come and reassure her. So who’s this guy?’

  Bags wagged his tail and grinned. Miss Pink was about to ask what kind of reassurance was needed when Harald appeared. Bags rushed at him in a frenzy of greeting.

  ‘You’ve been in the river!’ Harald announced, all his attention on the collie. Clive ch
ivvied Miss Pink past him and along the passage to the kitchen. Anne turned from the sink where she was washing lettuce.

  ‘I’m so glad you’ve come. Clive, take Harald into the garden — oh, darling’ —flustered as he appeared in the doorway — ‘the dog — a bit damp, sweetie; he can dry off in the sun. Clive!’ It was an order.

  ‘Come on.’ Clive looked resigned but he turned to his stepfather. ‘Woman-talk here; we’re in the way.’

  ‘Not on your life.’ Harald beamed at Miss Pink. ‘I’ve been on surveillance at a bedroom window all afternoon without being able to make head nor tail of it. Police HQ are mum, the chief constable’s unavailable, so what’s Tyndale up to, eh?’

  ‘I don’t know anything really,’ Miss Pink said, looking to Anne for guidance.

  ‘You were sitting in the car with him for long enough,’ Harald persisted. ‘What did he have to say?’

  ‘Darling! That’s between Tyndale and her. It could be personal.’

  ‘Rubbish. She’d gone over there to find out what was happening. As I would have done —’ He bit his lip. If you’d let me, trembled on the air. He raised his chin. ‘Admittedly I’m a trifle indiscreet on occasions but I was watching up there for hours. Now I need to know.’

  Miss Pink glanced at Clive who shrugged. ‘We don’t know any more than what you told me: an accident, signs of foul play.’

  ‘And Perry had gone to ground over there,’ Harald added, watching her. ‘And Tyndale’s taken Rick in.’

  ‘I didn’t know that,’ she said. ‘I anticipated it. He asked me to look after Bags, gave me the key to his flat.’

  ‘Good. We’ll share the dog. Of course they’ll have to release Rick.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘He’s not a killer.’

  ‘There’s no body.’

  Harald sat down, put his elbows on the table, his chin on his hands. He stared at her. Bags pawed his knee. ‘Where’s the body?’ he asked, scratching the dog’s skull.

  Clive shook his head helplessly. Anne said, ‘That sounds awfully callous, sweetie; you liked the girl.’

  ‘So did Rick.’

  Miss Pink nodded. ‘I see what you mean but it would have to be a sudden rage: impulsive. He’s not impulsive.’