Sunday December 20
Breakfast was chaotic, as usual, and interrupted by a hysterical phone-call from Nigel, who was on the Sunday rota, having taken Saturday off.
“Why aren’t you here, Boss?” shouted Nigel down the phone,
after he had shouted something similar in Cleo’s ear and been rewarded by being
told that Gary thought he should get a good night’s sleep.
“I hope you don’t,” said Gary.
“Where do we start?”
“Start what?”
“Looking for Marble, of course,” said Nigel. “Don’t say they
haven’t told you.”
“They have. At Hilda Bone’s house,” said Gary.
“Are you going to be there? Where is it, anyway? I can’t go.
Someone’s got to look after things here.”
“We should stay clandestine anyway and I’m not clandestine
here,” said Gary, “so between you and me, I should not go there.”
“Get Mia’s husband to go,” said Nigel. “He’s dying to get
into the homicide squad.”
“Is he on duty?”
“Yes. He’s busy reading up old cases.”
“Good for him. He can phone me and get instructions for
going to Mrs Bone’s house.”
“I’ll pass the phone to him.”
“Mike Curlew here.”
“Call me in 5 minutes, there’s a good chap, and give me
Nigel again.”
“What was that for, Nigel?”
“I thought it would save time. You sounded in a hurry to get
the job done. Sorry, I’m sure. I didn’t want to bother you too soon.”
Nigel’s view of Gary as a sort of father figure had taken a
knock. He had the feeling he was being a nuisance. Being assistant to
Superintendent Gary Hurley was not getting underway and Nigel was already
thinking up alternatives that included furthering his travesty show career.
“It’s OK, Nigel. I was too hasty.”
“OK. I just wanted to cut corners, Boss,” he snapped. He was
still in the job, after all.
“And don’t boss me, Nigel!” said Gary, punning on Nigel’s
respect.
Cleo looking disapprovingly at Gary, who was shouting. Did
he resent Nigel’s leisure capers?
Mike Curlew was a relatively new member of Middlethumpton’s
police force, headhunted from Birmingham to be with his wife, and sectioned to
the traffic control squad until the impending reshuffle at HQ.
“Sorry, Chief.”
“I’m not a native Indian, either.”
“What should I call you then?”
“How about using my name, like you did before stardom hit
you?”
“It was rather good last night, wasn’t it?”
“So I heard. The girls were delighted. Thanks for making a
fuss of them.”
“No problem. They are sweet.”
“Sometimes they are,” said Gary. “You should see them
wielding hockey-sticks. Little Boudiccas.”
“A lot of people were thrilled with the show, but that’s not
why I called, is it? You seem to have lost interest in HQ.”
“Listen, Nigel. That guy Marble will go underground for a
day or two. That’s why I’m not in a hurry. Anyway, Marble may have to contact
Bryn Thomas unless he plans to break into Hilda Bone’s house, and we know where
Thomas is.”
“I checked, Gary. He’s still here.”
“I’m glad to hear it. We’ve lost HQ inmates in the past.”
“But couldn’t Marble have made a bee line for Hilda’s house?
I’m sure breaking in would not pose much of a problem.”
“OK. So he gets in. Then he’ll lie low,” said Gary. “I’ll
get Mike to watch the house, though there aren’t any houses opposite, which
might make it difficult. Thumpton Wood is directly behind the house, so that’s
also somewhere an observer could hide.”
“So what do you want me to do?”
“Mike doesn’t have to phone me back if you ask him to go and
look at the lie of the land. He’s unknown in Upper Grumpsfield. He should go in
mufti and if challenged, he should say he’s looking for lodgings.”
“When?”
“Today, just in case.”
“Your wish is my command, kind Sir.”
“Orbs, Nigel!”
“What’s that?”
“Look it up. I’m thinking in synonyms right now.”
“Rather you than me. So you are telling me to give Mike
Curlew his marching orders. He won’t like that.”
“I don’t care if he doesn’t.”
“At the risk of losing my job when I say this, I’d be grateful
if you’d stop bitching around. I get enough of that with Lucky 13.”
“I’m not going to fire you, Nigel. And for the record,
remember what happened last time you left of your own free will.”
Nigel had in fact returned after a very short absence and
cadged his job back. His parents’ dry cleaning business was not an alternative
after all, he had explained. Gary had forgiven him.
***
By the time that phone-call had finished, Cleo was laughing
hard.
“It’s a serious matter with Marble,” she said, “You should
not send poor Nigel up.”
“He sends me up all the time. Sometimes I think I’m working
for him.”
“I think most secretaries think that way. They have more
control over the lives of their bosses than wives or partners ever get.”
“I’m not arguing that point,” said Gary. “Let’s just enjoy
Sunday. I’m not going to chase after Marble today and I don’t mind if you do
boss me around a bit as long as you go on sharing my duvet.”
“Our duvet,” Cleo insisted, not for the first time.
“You’re always on my side.”
“That’s because you hog the duvet.”
“Do I?”
“I’ll phone Molly and get her to ask Jack Coppins to phone
me,” said Cleo.
“Why Jack Coppins?”
“Because Jack is Molly’s new bedfellow and they are probably
still abed, since she does not open the pub until midday on Sundays.”
“Whatever made Molly jump into bed with a teenager?”
“He’s 28 and Molly’s only about to turn 38, she says.”
”Never,” said Gary. “She has more crow’s feet than an
aviary.”
***
A seriously sleepy Molly answered the phone. Jack would
phone back. He had gone home to see to things and she was snatching an hour’s
beauty-sleep.
Very soon after, Jack phoned.
“Molly said it’s urgent, Miss Hartley. What’s happened?”
“Harry Marble is on the loose and Jessie could be in serious
danger.”
“Why?”
“Part-ownership of the villa from before the bank sold it.
She’s Harry’s half-sister and we think he will want to dispose of her in case
there is something left in their father’s inheritance for them to share.”
“I didn’t realise it’s that serious,” said Jack.
“Jessie did get a bit of what was left over as cash on his giro
account, but Dr Marble was heavily in debt, Jack, and the bank took the villa
back to pay off those debts.”
“Can they do that?”
“They did it and we bought the house from the bank.”
“But it’s been burnt down, hasn’t it?”
“Yes, and we don’t know who started the fire. It might have
been Harry Marble.”
“The guy must be barmy,” said Jack.
“I think he’s lost the plot,” said Cleo. “He went to
Brighton to bully the Riddle who is not in jail, but the villa housekeeper had
been released for compassionate reasons and is Marble’s half-sister’s mother,
so he threatened and hit her instead. Fortunately my husband got there in. He
arrested Marble and he was transported to Middlethumpton by a Brighton traffic
team for questioning, but they let him escape,
so he is roaming around somewhere in the area.”
“But surely he won’t want to get at Jessie. She’s no good to
him.”
“She is as a witness, Jack. You don’t know this because
Jessie keeps things to herself, but she told me that Marble had raped her in
the villa, and I believe her. If she testifies against him, he’ll go to prison.
That’s the other reason he wants to get rid of her.”
“What was Jessie doing at the villa?”
“Checking noises in the villa for the woman she cleans for
next door. I assume that Marble followed her and attacked her.”
“What a nasty character he must be, Miss Hartley. But I have
to work tomorrow.”
“If you can keep an eye on things today, we’ll sort
something out from tomorrow if we haven’t caught up with him.”
“’We’ being the police, I hope,” said Jack.
“I’m married to Superintendent Chief Inspector Hurley now,”
said Cleo.
“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t use the right name.”
“That’s OK. I’m still Hartley for my agency, Jack.”
“So you want me to look after Jessie today and you will let
me know if Harry Marble has been caught.”
“Exactly.”
“Jessie has to do lunches at the pub, Mrs Hurley.”
“Then stay with her. Can the other children go somewhere?”
“Mick is at home.”
“Is Mick your younger brother, Jack? I don’t think I’ve met
him.”
“He’s a good guy, Mrs Hurley.”
“I’m sure he is.”
“I’ll keep in touch,” said Jack.
“So will I,” said
Cleo.
***
Harry Marble had not been seen or heard of in the hours
since he got out of the patrol car and ran for it. There was not much point in
going to HQ since Marble was certainly not there and Gary had wanted to
interview Harry alone the following day and then bring him together with Thomas
and see what happened. Cleo would also be present in her guise as a social
advisor and Gary thought Greg should be there since the interviews would be in
Gary’s old office and the case should be passed to Greg now that Gary was
overall head of the violent crime division. Whether that questioning could take
place obviously depended on Marble being found and arrested.
So the day passed quietly for the Hurleys apart from Mike
Curlew dropping in for more instructions about observing Marble, should he turn
up. After discussing possible strategies, Mike left his car near Cleo’s cottage
and walked to Hilda Bone’s house. There was no movement that he could see. The
farm estate opposite, which had once belonged to a guy named Paddy Kelly was
still unsold. There was no building opposite Hilda Bone’s house, which looked
directly onto land belonging to Kelly’s farm. The houses in the Bone side of
the road had big back gardens that ended with gates leading into Thumpton Wood.
If you walked downhill for about four hundred yards you came to Thumpton Court,
a crescent in which the Marble villa, now the Hurley villa stood, horribly
wrecked by fire.
Mike walked all over the area to get a clear picture, finally
returning to Mrs Bone’s house through the woods. Her garden had been tidied for
the winter. There was quite a large shed near the back gate leading up the path
to the back door. Mike looked through the windows. It contained only garden
tools and there was nowhere to hide. The shed was locked. He tried the back
door of the house and it was also locked. All the windows, except for that of
the kitchen, had thick curtains drawn tightly, so Mike could not see into the
rooms. The kitchen was tidy and empty.
He decided to ring the doorbell at the next door house, a
bungalow with attic windows. He could see a face in one of those upstairs
windows, but only for a moment until the owner of the face drew back.
An older woman opened the door.
“Yes,” she snapped.
“I’m looking for lodgings,” Mike said. “I don’t suppose you
have a room free, do you?”
“Does this place look like a hotel?” the woman said.
“Of course not, but some kind people let a room to help with
their income.”
“You haven’t got any luggage.”
“So you have got a room free, have you, Mrs ….?” Mike
glanced at the name on a small plaque above the doorbell, to make sure he got
it right first time.
“Crighton,” said a man, coming up to the door, but stood
behind the woman.
Mike assumed that must be the husband.
“What does the man want?” said Crighton.
“He wants to lodge here.”
“Let him. Betjeman’s room is free today.”
***
Mike thought he knew who those people were. They used to
live somewhere quite near but moved to be near their son. Then they moved here
to prepare for what they thought was the son’s imminent release. Mike
remembered the case. It had featured Gary Hurley and some vamp of a woman named
– Finch. The Crighton guy admitted to killing her and was pronounced guilty but
insane.
“Who is that?” Mike asked. “I don’t want to take anyone
else’s space.”
So Mike’s reading project was already bringing results, he
decided. He was anxious to be part of the team, but even more anxious to overtake
his wife Mia career-wise. In fact, he resented everyone who was further up the
ladder, especially Mia.
“Our son, Mister,” said Mrs Crighton with unmistakeable
pride. “He’s coming home soon.”
“That’s nice.”
“That’s unlikely,” said Mr Crighton.
“We’ve only just moved here, you see,” said Mrs Crighton,
“and my husband is talking through his hat.”
“We used to live near here, but went to live near Oxford to
be nearer our son,” said Crighton.
“But he said he wanted to come back to Upper Grumpsfield, so
we’ve come on ahead to get things ready for him,” said Mrs Crighton, looking
daggers at her husband.
Mr Crighton was not allowed to make any adverse comment about
his son, who was not his biological offspring. Mrs Crighton had never told him
that and if he suspected it, he kept that suspicion to himself. Betjeman’s lunacy
was all inherited from his mother or her beau.
“I see,” said Mike, and decided not to ask any more
questions about the Crighton family situation. “So I can move in next week, can
I?”
“That sounds like a good idea,” said Mr Crighton. “The
upstairs room is ready – all fitted out as an apartment. Do you want to see
it?”
“That would be nice,” said Mike, wondering if he had hit on
Marble’s location quite by accident.
Mrs Crighton led the way to the foot of a narrow staircase
that led to the upper floor. It was not makeshift but its use was unlikely to
escape the notice of the Crightons, unless…. Mike could not help feeling that
Marble had forced the Crightons to let him in and that they saw Mike’s presence
as a rescue act.
Mr Crighton pointed the way and Mike climbed the stairs and
opened the door leading to the attic room.
It was empty. No sign of the person whose face he had seen
in the window, but the back window was flung open.
“Where is the face I saw at the window, Mrs Crighton?” Mike asked.
“What face?”
Mr Crighton looked guilty and Mike immediately smelt a rat.
He got out his cell phone, moved away from the centre of the room and tapped
Gary’s cell phone number.
Gary phoned back immediately.
“We need forensics at the next door house to Bone’s, Gary. I
think they had a visitor.”
“Aren’t you sure, Mike?”
Mr Crighton nodded, but gestured to Mike to keep his voice
down.
“I’m sure. There’s no one here now. I’m about to find out
the details as to whether it was a visitor or an intruder. Whoever it was has
escaped via an upstairs window over the roof of their winter-garden under that
window. The escapee would not have found it difficult. The name on the doorbell
is Crighton, by the way.”
The name Crighton rang a bell. Surely they had not turned up
again.
“Good work, Mike. Stay there please. I’ll order forensics
and come there now.”
Cleo was astonished at Gary’s sudden change of tack.
“What was all that about,” she asked. She had been tending
to some of the little ones and had had no time to listen in.
“You aren’t going to believe this, but the Crightons are
back!”
“Do you mean the parents of that awful guy, Betjeman?”
“I wouldn’t be at all surprised.”
“But that guy was sent down for life.”
“Remember that they moved out of their bungalow to be nearer
their precious son. They thought he was going to be released.”
“He won’t be, I’m sure of that,” said Cleo. “He’s as nutty
as a fruitcake, but that can’t be the reason his parents came back to Upper
Grumpsfield.”
“They might have given up on Betjeman and been homesick,“
said Gary. “I’ll get to the house, but first I need to phone Chris. Mike saw someone in an upstairs room and
whoever it was had gone when he went up there to inspect his new lodgings. We
need to know if that was Marble.”
“Wow. The plot thickens,” said Cleo.
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