Monday cont.
After a briefing by Gary, Nigel decided he was equipped to
deal with the Thring ladies. After all, he had experienced Daisy and was sure
she was guilty of any number of homicides, which made her a lot more fearsome
than the innocent Thrings.
He would get some more data on Daisy`s biography as soon as he had a moment, but meanwhile the Thrings were next on the menu, so he braced himself, scribbled a few notes to help him get through the interview and announced to reception that they could send the Thrings up to his office, that being Superintendent Hurley’s former office on the second floor.
The receptionist said it would cost her her job if she tried
to order Gisela Thring about.
Nigel thought again and asked the receptionist to let him
know when they arrived and he would go up to Superintendent Thring’s office to
talk to them there.
“That’s sounds more like it, Nigel.”
“But Gary’s old office is mine now,” Nigel reminded her.
“I’ve been promoted.
“Isn’t Greg in charge?”
“We’re sharing,” said Nigel.
“Better put a notice up,” said the girl.
“You can bet on
that,” said Nigel, a little ashamed at the whopper he had just told..
***
Gary was not planning to be at Nigel’s interview with the
Thrings. Greg would be, mainly out of curiosity and relief that he had not been
expected to take on either Thring woman. Mia Curlew would also pop in. Nigel
could not complain that his colleagues were not interested. Gisela’s office
would be crammed.
No news had seeped through from the hospital. Gary checked
and was informed that Mr Marble was being detained at least until the following
morning because he had a nasty flesh wound and they wanted to make sure that no
sepsis developed. Bryn Thomas would therefore be interviewed alone, mainly to
find out what kind of contact he had had with the Crightons, but he would not
be told of Marble’s visit there.
***
Nigel would never have admitted that he thought he was being
taken advantage of, but that was the case in his mind as he mounted the stairs
to the 3rd floor and ‘holy of holies’ where the three
Superintendents fought for the funds available for their respective
departments.
Nigel wondered ow Gisela Thring had got the job seeing as
she had never served as a policeman in Middlethumpton and was, as far as most
of the staff were concerned, an unknown quantity. But she was good money, it
has to be said. It probably helped that she had been hoisted into her job by
the town clerk, who was – it is rumoured – a distant relative and not so
distant past lover of Gisela Thring.
Nigel was only a junior detective having to take on a
Superintendent who was notorious for her sharp tongue, and her mother, who was
quite likely to be the same.
But Nigel was wrong. Gisela was proud of her achievement
concerning the awful Daisy and her mother was proud of Gisela.
“It was my hair, you see,” Giselle Thring began. “It’s never
fallen out before and I was just telling my daughter about it when she decided
I was being poisoned, especially after I’d told her about the others dying
after they had lost their hair and health.”
“We’ve had a case like that before, Mrs Thring, but this is
a horror scenario, isn’t it?” said Nigel.
“So what’s going to happen, Mr Bramley?” she asked.
“We’ll have to get concrete evidence, but I’m sure we will.
Miss Young is a warped person. She has confessed and seems proud to have killed
the four who are dead as a result of her actions. I’m sorry to say that Mrs
Burton is also a victim and we don’t yet know how many others have fallen prey
to her evil activities elsewhere.”
“But Mrs Burton’s hair did not fall out,” said Giselle.
“I don’t have the results of the blood test yet, Miss
Thring, but I think we’ll discover that she was killed by a massive dose, so
she didn’t live long enough for her hair to fall out.”
“It’s horrible,” said Gisela. “I don’t want you to put my
mother through any more details, but you can call me Gisela since we’re going
to work next door to one another.”
“It doesn’t bear thinking about what would have happened if
you had not visited your mother that day, Gisela.”
“What will happen to the awful Daisy?” Giselle asked.
“She’ll get life for murder, if I’m not mistaken,” said
Nigel. “And I think our little talk is over on that encouraging note. If you
would just sign a short statement tomorrow, when I’ve written it from the
recording, you won’t be troubled again.”
“We’ll go home, mother. I’m going to take more time off in
future and you will never go back into a home even for respites.”
“That’s a good idea, Gisela. Gary - I mean Superintendent
Hurley can do some of your work. I know he’ll be delighted to help.”
“I’m not so sure of that, but it won’t be my decision,” said
Gisela, and Nigel thought of the string of expletives that awaited him when he
told Gary what he was in for.
***
Bryn Thomas was expecting to be set free and was very angry
when that did not happen. Gary, using his old office to talk to the guy,
explained once again that they did not know who had set fire to the villa and
until they found out he was a suspect.
“I didn’t do anything,” he said. “I didn’t even know the
place had been set on fire.”
“Last time we talked, you said you had seen flames from a
distance and run off,” said Gary.
“I don’t remember that.”
“Well, you did, and one thing is clear,” said Gary, “and
that is that you left the villa without Hilda Bone.”
“She was busy with ….”
“Harry Marble. I’m right aren’t I?”
“They were plotting something and I thought it was to my
advantage so I did not want to disturb them.”
“What could he have been plotting with Hilda Bone, Mr
Thomas? I’m sure that idea is pure fantasy on your part.”
“I thought he was on my side.”
“Which side is that, Mr Thomas?”
“Thomas shrugged his shoulders.
“Does that mean that you had plotted with Marble before?”
Bryn Thomas was cornered and he knew it. His aim now was to
place the blame for anything that had happened onto Marble’s shoulders.
“He was going to help me secure the house,” he said.
“You mean Hilda Bone’s house?”
Thomas nodded several times.
“The problem is that I have no proof that my father was my
father.”
“What do you mean by that, Mr Thomas? Are you saying that
you don’t know who your father was?”
“My mother had a lot of men in her time,” said Thomas.
“But you can be quite sure that if your mother was married
to your father when you were born, you are his legal offspring, Mr Thomas.”
“Harry’s uncle was a lawyer and Harry said he knew a thing
or two about the law, too. He would get the documents I need – at a price.”
“Did he indeed? Did you promise to pay him?”
“Yes,” said Thomas. “I would buy the documents. There’s
nothing illegal about that.”
“Where was Mr Marble going to obtain those documents,” Gary
said.
“He said he knew where to look, but I would have to give him
some expenses before he got started.”
“How much did you give him?”
“500.”
“Where did you get the 500, Mr Thomas?”
“Hilda had a savings account.”
“Did she now?”
“The password was scratched into the card. It was quite easy
and I wanted to pay her back one day.”
“And now you won’t have to, will you? That’s another reason
for getting rid of Mrs Bone.”
“It was only a loan.”
“Have you thought about the possibility that there is more
than one entitlement to the house, Mr Thomas.? Half of it belonged to Mrs Bone,
so you weren’t entitled to more than half of it anyway. And now Mrs Bone is
dead, the other half of the house will go to her next of kin, and if there
isn’t anyone, you will get it.”
“I promised Marble half.”
“You did what?”
“He wouldn’t help me otherwise.”
“So now you both own half of that house, at least
theoretically.”
“I wasn’t an only child, either,” said Thomas.
“If you aren’t, you will have to share with the other
siblings.”
“Will I?”
”Your fortune is shrinking by the minute, Mr Thomas. How
many other brothers and sisters do you have?”
“Three that I know of.”
“Does Harry Marble know who they are?”
“Yes. I told him when I found out myself.”
“And how did you find out?” Gary asked.
“Cardiff Registry Office.”
“Very efficient. What did Marble say?”
“Harry said he would see to it.”
“Did he now? I think we’ll break off for today, Mr Thomas.
I’d like a list of your siblings’ names, Mr Thomas. Write them on this memo please.”
“Do I have to?”
“Yes. We’ll talk again tomorrow or Wednesday. But there is
one more fact that cannot be ignored, Mr Thomas. If you did not kill Mrs Bone,
you will inherit the whole house except that your mother has a bigger claim and
all your father’s children will get the same, including you, so let’s hope
you’ve been telling the truth.”
“I have.”
“If by any chance you have asked Marble to dispose of your
relatives, you will of course be convicted of the same offences as Marble. Bear
that in mind.”
Thomas was taken back to his cell.
***
Since Thomas had no means of communicating with the outside
world, should he have instructed Marble to do something in his name, he would
not be able to cancel it. Marble was stuck in the hospital and under guard wherever
he was. Now Gary needed to find out just what the guy had been doing while he
was on the run, though it was hardly likely that he could hunt down and kill a
whole family in such a short time.
However, the list of Thomas’s siblings would have to be followed
up immediately. Mia and Mike Curlew were given the task of finding them. Gary was
almost certain that Marble could not have tracked any of them down in the hours
he had been free. He was optimistic, but optimism was not going to solve
anything.
***
Struggling with the issue of which of the suspects at hand
was actually guilty and not being able to prove anything, Gary realized that
Harry Marble was certainly more deeply involved than he had thought thanks to
Bryn Thomas telling him too much.
Was that the reason for wanting to get at Dorothy? She had
been to Cardiff and talked to Mrs Thomas, but did he know that? Could Harry
possibly know? Dorothy went to Bristol, not directly to Cardiff, so a possible
informant at the station could not know what she was planning.
Dorothy had fortunately bought her rail tickets online ever
since she had learnt how, so she did not stand at a ticket-office, either.
***
The villa had been in the bank’s hands for some time after
Dr Marble’s murder. It had even been let to a Dr Fargo, who had first refusal
on the villa, but didn’t want it and had eventually left to live in Bath with
his new girlfriend, the bank had said. In the long run, sale of the villa was
the only realistic option so that the estate could be wound up, so Gary got a
good price. There was no mention of a Mr Harry Marble still running after the
inheritance to which he thought he was entitled. His motive for setting the
villa alight could be revenge. If he couldn’t have it, no one else would.
***
Gary checked back with Cleo, telling her that he no longer
thought Thomas was instrumental in Mrs Bone’s death but was being manipulated
by Marble, who was counting on making money out of Bryn Thomas’s determination
to inherit Mrs bone’s house, and had already taken money from Hilda Bone’s
savings account to finance Marble’s dubious if not downright fictional activities
on his behalf.
“It’s a weird case,” Cleo commented. “Each guy is trying to
get at ownership or rights to a house. They plot together to get what they
presumably think is their rightful ownership. United we stand dot dot dot.”
“But I don’t think they have discussed tactics,” said Gary.
“Marble would not be that foolish and Thomas probably had none. He seemed to
rely on Marble.”
“It’s like writing a story without having planned plot,
place or persons,” said Cleo.
“Even in well-planned stories , characters often go off at a tangent, and do things they
shouldn’t do. Then you get the deus ex machina effect where you can only get to
the end of a story through some kind of sudden intervention.”
“Is that what you’re hoping for?” said Cleo.
“I’m expecting
something of the sort.”
“Who is it going to be? The butler or the gardener?”
“As long as it isn‘t the detective,” said Gary.
“Who else could it be, Gary?”
“You’ve got me there, Cleo. We really do need the unknown
culprit.”
“Chris’s report might tell us something.”
“I don’t think he has added anything to it. He’s moved on to
the arsenic-corpse.”
“At least you know who is guilty in that case,” said Cleo.
“Unless the confession was a lie and she’s covering up for
someone.”
“You’ll soon find out, won’t you?” said Cleo. “If someone at
the home dies under suspicious circumstances during the next week or two, we
can assume that Daisy has an accomplice.”
“Or we could ask her, before someone else bites the dust.”
“Or you could ask Jessie what she knows,” said Cleo. “I
wonder if she knows your OAP death angel.”
“Can you ask her?”
“Sure. There’s always a chance. Jessie has a past. Set it up
and I’ll be along. It might be our last hope of finding someone else who might
have had an interest not in getting rid of Hilda, but in destroying Harry
Marble’s hope of getting the villa.”
“I’ve never thought of it that way on, Cleo.”
“You know the old adage …”
“But how did Marble get out?”
“He left with Thomas.”
“Thomas said he left alone.”
“He could have been lying. Someone knocked Hilda out. That
may have bene Thomas’s way of passing the buck.”
“Thomas was sure he had left Marble in the room with Hilda
Bone.”
“She would not have stayed in a locked room if she was
conscious, Gary. Maybe she had two attackers.”
“Is that the solution to the riddle, Cleo?”
“It could be, even without the gods looking on us kindly.”
“I’ll be home when I’ve talked to Nigel about Gisela and her
mother. I don’t think we’ll learn anything more, but at least we’ve talked to
them. Daisy’s confession is enough to get her sentenced. We can leave it at.”
“Assuming she was acting alone,” said Cleo.
“If you’d met her, you would know that she almost certainly
was.”
“There are a whole lot of people who believe the earth is
flat, Gary.”
“Well, isn’t it?”
***
“Don’t let Charlie hear you say that.”
“We’ve already had that argument, Cleo.”
“You’d better get Mrs Thomas here and find out exactly what
her position is. She’s probably safe now that Harry Marble is not free to move
around.”
“I hope it stays that way.”
“Bryn Thomas has come to some sort of financial agreement
that Marble does the dirty work, but there are still questions to be answered,”
said Cleo. “For instance, about Thomas’s genesis. And there’s a slight chance
that he will want to exact revenge on his mother.”
“For what?”
“I’ve no idea,” said Cleo. “A case that started out as
posters and a nasty anonymous letter has turned into a psychodrama.”
“I’ll phone Cardiff and get the colleagues to get Bronwyn
Thomas to their HQ and send a crew from our traffic squad to bring her here.”
“That sounds sensible. Are you coming home in time to see
the little ones running around?”
“I’ll get the ball rolling with Gisela and be on my way.”
***
In the stop-go evening traffic up Thumpton Hill (where were
they all heading for?) Gary reflected that he had not mentioned the Crightons
to Bryn Thomas. But there was no reason why he should be more than polite to
them, especially Mrs Crighton, who was awful at the best of times. Keeping
characters apart was sometimes more useful than bringing them together. He
wondered if Mr Crighton had every thought of ditching the woman.Moving on to
Mrs Thomas, the question he needed to ask her was how many children were her
husband’s, but he shelved all thought of that case for the day. He put on his
father hat and drove home as fast as he could.
***
“I don’t suppose it would be better to ask Mia Curlew to
question Mrs Thomas, would it?” said Cleo.
“Can’t you do it?”
“When?”
“Late tomorrow morning, but Mia could be there too,” said
Gary. “Timing will depend on when Mrs Thomas gets to HQ, hopefully this
evening, otherwise we’ll have to finance the patrol staying somewhere
overnight, and that was not planned. Mrs Thomas can sleep in one of the guest
rooms on the third floor. I can’t put her in a cell,” said Gary.
“That’s a good idea. Brilliant of Gisela to organize the
transport.”
“It does happen to be her job, but she sees every
arrangement as a personal achievement,” said Gary.
***
A couple of hours later, Mia phoned to say she had taken Mrs
Thomas to one of the guest rooms and then to the canteen for supper. Should she
stay with her until further notice?
“What do you think?” Gary said.
“I think she’ll be OK. She has a TV, a minibar and her own
bathroom.”
“The lap of luxury, in fact,” said Gary. “Get to know her a
bit. It will save time in the morning. You’ll be doing the interview with Cleo,
by the way.”
“I thought you wanted to do it,” said Mia.
“I’m delegating, Mia. The colleagues best suited for a job
get to do it now. I can make choices in my new job and I intend to, for
instance getting your husband on the team as soon as I can. He’s wasted on
Gisela’s traffic cop list.”
fifteen – Deus ex machina?
Monday cont. then Tuesday December 22.
Mrs Thomas’s only disappointment was that there was no gin
in the minibar of her elegant accommodation. She did not think her hip flask
would keep her going until the morning.
“I think it would be wiser if you were sober for the
interview, Mrs Thomas,” said Mia.
“I’m always sober,” retorted the woman in her thick Welsh
accent. “I need a little gin for my circulation.”
In the canteen, Mia had ordered Mrs Thomas an opulent high
tea, which was what she wished for though it was almost 10 p.m.
“Won’t you have indigestion?” Mia asked.
“No. I eat all-day breakfasts all the time,” she replied.
“You are paying for it, aren’t you?”
“It goes on expenses, Mrs Thomas. Anything you eat while
you’re is paid for by the police.”
That made Mrs Thomas feel very important, so she smiled
broadly.
“Get me a bottle of gin then,” she said. “You can put it
down as cake if you don’t want gin on the bill.”
Mia wondered if it was the right way forward, but she acquiesced,
much to Mrs Thomas’s satisfaction.
“Don’t drink it all tonight, Mrs Thomas. I’m not getting you
any more so make it last.”
Mr Thomas thought she could get another bottle out of the Superintendent
if she played her cards right. Mia decided she had softened Mrs Thomas up and
they would probably get more out of her if she was satisfied with the catering.
They returned to the guest-room, where Mia felt bound to
mention Mrs Thomas’s metabolism.
“I’m sure your circulation would have lasted a few more
hours without the gin, Mrs Thomas,” Mia insisted. “You could go down to the
canteen if you need anything, but they won’t give you any alcohol. It’s not
allowed.”
“So I’m not a prisoner?”
“No. You are only here to answer a few questions.”
“I haven’t done anything wrong then.”
“Not that I know of,” said Mia, watching as Mr Thomas quickly
removed the screw top on the gin bottle and treated herself to a long swig. Mia
couldn’t help wondering about Mrs Thomas’s regular alcohol level.
Mrs Thomas did not want to talk. She was watching a late
quiz on the TV and shouting out the answers ahead of the contestants. She had
forgotten all about Mia.
She instructed a warder to go down to the canteen and get
Mrs Thomas some strong black coffee and a ham sandwich.
***
Next morning it became clear that Mia had underestimated Mrs
Thomas’s thirst and the woman herself had overestimated her so-called
circulation.
“She was all right when I brought her coffee and the
sandwich, said the warder, who had been accompanied by a colleague who was able
to witness that Mrs Thomas was alive and well. “She was quite tame,” was the
general consensus. “After all, she wasn’t locked up, was she?”
An hour later, the relief warder who had just come on duty
and taken Mrs Thomas an early-morning cuppa found her dead in her bed.
Chris, who had only just arrived at HQ, said she was definitely
out of this world. The corpse would be released as soon as he could verify that
she had died of natural causes.
***
“Blast. That means she won’t be able to answer my
questions,” said Gary, irate rather than sad that he had been woken early on a
day when he could go into HQ later, thinking that Mrs Thomas would take her
time getting up..
“I suppose forensics have stepped in already, haven’t they?”
“Yes. Chris has already started to operate on the corpse, Mr
Hurley,” the receptionist said.
“HQ is not a hospital,” Gary snapped.
“But the forensic lab smells like one,” retorted the
receptionist. She thought Mr Hurley was being heartless and said so.
“You’re right, Mavis – it is Mavis, isn’t it? I’m sorry
about that. But I brought her all the way from Cardiff to talk to her, and it
was a waste of time.”
“I’m sorry, too,” said the receptionist and hung up.
***
“I wonder if Mrs Thomas had a hipflask, Gary. Was she
searched properly?” Cleo asked at the breakfast table-
“Not if only men dealt with her. They had experience of
women fighting them off. Male cops are not allowed to do body searches of
women, understandably. Mia was looking after her. She won’t have let the woman
do anything foolish.”
“Or she took sleeping pills on top of the alcohol she had
had the foresight to carry with her. After all, she was in a strange bed. She
could have drained her hip flask and then swallowed pills in an inebriated state
and not noticed how many,” said Cleo.
“We can ask the canteen staff about that and Chris will do
an autopsy. It’s really a nuisance. We can’t have witnesses dying left, right,
and centre. Can you imagine what Bertie Browne will write about us?”
“I can guess,” said Cleo. “You’d better have some more
coffee and then get to HQ. You’re wanted here, but needed there.”
“I’m actually supposed to be above the nitty-gritty,” said
Gary.
“But you aren’t, Sweetheart, and never will be.”
“I’m going to delegate.”
“But not today – and we’ll have to ask Dorothy if she has
reported everything. She is the only person who has talked with Mrs Thomas
about her son.”
“I suppose I’ll have to tell Bryn Thomas about his mother before someone else does.”
“Does anyone already know who Mrs Thomas belongs to? She
hadn’t been there long enough for speculation to get going, had she?”
“Good question. Same name as one of our prisoners. People
jump to conclusions.”
“The Monday Gazette is out, so you have a couple of days to
get sorted before Bertie can publish anything,” said Cleo. “I’ll tell him
myself and warn him about publishing anything without my permission. I don’t
think he knows about Bryn Thomas. He would have asked me about him if he had.”
“Don’t bet on it. Thomas auditioned for Lucky 13. That
information will have been leaked and Bertie is notoriously quick on the draw.”
“Meaning that there could be something in today’s edition,”
said Gary.
“Want to look? It’s probably waiting on the door mat.”
“You look,” said Gary.
“I’ll let you know about that.”
“There’s something else you will be forced to face and that
is that Bryn Thomas is to all intents and purposes the owner of the Bone house.
I presume that the ‘Bones’ made some kind of mutual arrangement about the
house.”
“And that’s where a chat with Mr Thomas might have come in
handy,” said Gary. “We don’t know if the fake Mr Bone knew how many kids he
had. Since he was never divorced they are all legally his, so what Mrs Thomas
did with her life after he left leaves any offspring legal beneficiaries.”
“Unless Hilda has relatives,” said Cleo.
“Can you find out?”
“I could ask around,” said Cleo as she hugged Gary, wound
his scarf round his neck, put the keys of the red car in his hand and sent him
on his way.
***
Gary had left Cleo with a tall order to fulfil. Bone was
almost an unknown quantity to Cleo except for her curiosity and childish ambition
to be a better sleuth than Dorothy. Hilda had only recently confessed to having
lived a double life, if you can so describe the years she spent with a guy
using her name after the original Mr Bone had died, and even sharing her house
with him.
There was hardly anyone she could ask about Hilda Bone’s
past. Jane Barker was dead and she had apparently only been a recent
acquaintance so would probably not have known much. Hilda had told Cleo that
she had no neighbours to mention since the old ones had either died, left or
gone to prison and the new residents had not been very friendly except for the
Crightons, who had only very recently moved in. They knew that she knew all
about them and were at pains not to let anyone else know that their son had
been locked away for life in a psychiatric ward, despite the fact that Mrs
Crighton told everyone about the (imagined) imminent release of that son. Mrs
Crighton made Betjeman the main topic of every conversation and was
brainwashing Mr Crighton to believe what she said, except that he didn’t, but
didn’t dare contradict his volatile wife.
Hilda had known enough to know better, but even Cleo’s
reassurance that Betjeman Crighton would not be set free did not stop Hilda
Bone being nervous.
The only clue to possible benefactors might be Hilda`s
authentic marriage, so Cleo would start her search there, but not before
consulting Dorothy and asking her to come round and talk about the dead woman.
Dorothy was not especially prone to gossip, but she remembered it, all the more
if she disliked the subject thereof, and she had made no secret of her dislike
of Hilda.
***
An hour later, Dorothy was sitting at Cleo’s dining table
drinking milk coffee and spreading butter on her breakfast bagel.
“This is terrible,” said Dorothy.
“I thought you liked bagels.”
“Not the bagel, but Mrs Thomas should have survived long
enough to talk,” she said.
“I don’t suppose she had a death wish,” said Cleo. “Did she
seem weakly?”
“She was a drinker. You could see that. How much of her
aggressive talk was booze-induced I can’t say.”
“Can you think of anything to add to your report?”
“No. She was a victim of circumstances. I think Gary got her
here because he was curious. There was nothing in the report that can have made
him think I was suspicious of her.”
“Were you, Dorothy?”
“Not more than usual.”
“You’re probably right about Gary, and now he will have to
tell Bryn Thomas about her death, and that should cause tears of merriment
since it means that he will inherit her half of Hilda’s house as well, unless
there are others in the queue.”
“It’s all rather grotesque, don’t you think?” said Dorothy.
“But surely nothing can be decided about that house yet.”
“Do you know what happened to the first Mr Bone?”
“He fell over and died,” said Dorothy. “I never quite
believed that story. They were on holiday at the time.”
“Not another case of being pushed over a cliff, I hope,”
said Cleo.
“No. This time on a lonely beach. Hilda had walked on ahead,
then turned round a few minutes later and Mr Bone had drowned in an inch of
seawater. A few more minutes and he would have been washed away. The tide was ebbing.”
“Awesome,” said Cleo.
“But as I see it, not suspicious. If she had wanted to, she
could have left Mr Bone to disappear under the ebbing water. Hilda said it
could have happened to her. And she would hardly have tried to help him if she
had knocked him about.”
“Or he had abused her, Dorothy.”
“That would have made a good motive, wouldn’t it?”
“So she was fancy free after that,” said Cleo.
“The man she later lived with here had moved from Cardiff.
She had known him there, intimately, to judge from the way she talked about
him, but there’s nothing in what she said to indicate that she had caused the
real Mr Bone’s demise.”
“So Mrs Thomas’s errant husband took his place,” said Cleo. “Our
Hilda was quite a girl, wasn’t she?”
“She always acted as if she had high ethics,” said Dorothy. “I
wouldn’t be surprised if Hilda already knew the 2nd Mr Bone in
Cardiff. She was originally from Wales, wasn’t she?”
“I’m not sure, but we might trace a Bone family in Cardiff.
There won’t be that many of them. It isn’t a Welsh name, is it?”
“No, I’m sure it isn’t, but we should find out about Hilda’s
past. She might have relatives who have better claims on the house since it was
all hers after the fake Mr Bone died.”
“What was Hilda’s maiden name?” Cleo mused.
“Supposing the genuine Mr Bone got a job in Middlethumpton
and she met the fake Mr Bone there?”
“Why would Mr Thomas move to Middlethumpton?” Cleo said. “I
think our first version is the right one.”
“On the other hand, supposing Hilda had her heart set on Mr
Thomas and wanted to be ride of the original Mr Bone?” said Dorothy. I keep
coming back to that idea.”
“We know that the first Mr Bone died on the beach.”
“So what if she did away with him and nobody saw anything?”
“Gary would say we are now in the land of fantasy.”
“And I would reply that we have to find out what really
happened to the first Mr Bone even if Gary thinks it’s irrelevant to the
present case,” said Dorothy. “He has been wrong before. There has to be a motive
for killing Hilda. What if Marble had found out about irregularities in the
death of the real Mr Bone and tried to blackmail her?”
“Then she might have wanted to kill him,” said Cleo.
“And he wanted to get in first,” said Dorothy. “You see,
Cleo, it’s always the question we have to ask. There must be a reason for the
woman to have been left to die in that room. You don’t simply forget the person
you have just been talking to.”
“That only makes sense if Marble set fire to the villa, and
why would he do that if he wanted to have it?”
“He wouldn’t. I’m sure of that.”
“So what do you think happened?” Cleo asked.
“I want to talk to Jessie Coppins before I decide,” said
Dorothy. “She’s in it somewhere and we must clarify her role.”
“Meaning she would have a motive?”
“If she understood what was at stake, we can’t rule that out.”
“Let’s walk Max and Mathilda as far as Molly’s pub then.”
“Yes. Let’s do that.”
***
An hour later, Cleo and Dorothy were drinking Molly’s Irish
coffee to warm their insides. The babies were asleep, lulled by the battle
against the wind that seemed to want to prevent them getting to the pub. Since
it was nearly 11, Cleo and Dorothy did not have to wait very long for Jessie to
appear to help in the kitchen. She was surprised to see Cleo and would have
scuttled away if Cleo had not called out to her that Miss Price wanted to talk
to her.
“Yes Miss?”
“You are going to tell the truth, aren’t you, Jessie?” said
Dorothy.
“Yes Miss.”
“Did you smoke in the villa the other night, Jessie?”
“No Miss. I don’t smoke.”
“Did you light a candle in the dark, Jessie? The stairs must
haven pitch black.” Dorothy continued, and Cleo wondered where Jessie would get
a candle.
“I had a torch with me,” said Jessie.
“So you had planned to go upstairs, had you?” Dorothy
continued.
“Sort of.”
“What were you looking for?”
“Before or after?” Jessie said.
Dorothy looked a bit puzzles so Cleo chipped in.
“Before Mr Marble came and hurt you,” she said.
“I wanted to look at the bedspread again. But I didn’t want
to steal it.”
“I know that because it is still there, Jessie,” said Cleo.
The fire did not get to that bedroom. But you came back to the house after
leaving it, didn’t you, Jessie?”
“Yes Miss”
“Why?”
“I don’t remember, Miss.”
“Weren’t you afraid of Mr Marble seeing you?” said Dorothy.
“I’d forgotten him.”
Cleo wondered how someone who had just been raped could
forget the incident so soon after and even return to the scene of the crime.
Unless….
“Are you sure what he did to you was rape, Jessie?”
“He did it like my Dad. Nasty and cruel.”
“So what were you looking for in the house.”
“Money, Miss.”
“Where did you look?” Dorothy asked. She did not believe the
rape story and planned to say so, but not in front of Jessie.
“In the kitchen drawers, Miss.”
“But the villa was not occupied, “said Cleo. “Why would
there be money in a kitchen drawer.”
“There usually is, Miss, but there wasn’t any.”
“What did you do
after that?” said Dorothy.
“I found a candle in one of the drawers. There were matches
in a different drawer, so I lit the candle.”
“Why would you do that?”
“The torch had gone out.”
“Did you leave the candle burning when you left?” Cleo
asked.
“No, Miss.”
“So it was not still burning when you went home.”
“No, Miss.”
“Are you sure, Jessie?”
“I used it to find my way round to where I could get out,
Miss,” said Jessie.
“But you were in the kitchen, Jessie. The back door was only
a few feet away.”
“I’d forgotten that, Miss.”
Dorothy wondered just how stupid Jessie was, unless she was
fibbing, of course.
“I found the front door, Miss.”
“So then you threw the candle away, didn’t you?” said
Dorothy.
“No. I just put it down Miss. I heard voices and had to get
away quick.”
“So you left it burning, did you?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Think, Girl,” said Dorothy in an angry voice.
“I might have done.”
It was obviously pointless trying to get Jessie to say
something worth hearing. The candle was irrelevant. It had been outside, not in
the room where the fire had started.
“Well, it could have been,” said Dorothy aside to Cleo. To
Jessie she said “When you left the villa, did you see anyone?”
“No Miss.”
“Thank you, Jessie. That will be all,” said Cleo for
Dorothy, who she thought had been far too heavy-handed at the end.
When she had gone, Cleo felt the need to berate Dorothy for
suggesting that Jessie could have started the fire.
“So where did it start, Cleo?”
“I assume it was a burning cigarette thrown onto the floor,
or we’ve missed a vital link.”
“It looks as if we can’t blame anyone,” said Dorothy. “And that
would clear both Marble and Thomas of deliberate arson and attempted murder,
wouldn’t it?”
“No, Dorothy. They left Hilda unconscious in a locked room.
They did not know if she would ever regain consciousness. They just left her
there. Gary would say that is attempted homicide.”
“I can’t think of a way of proving any of our theories so
far,” said Dorothy.
“And we are indulging in wild speculation, Dorothy. Gary can
get Marble for rape, assuming that’s what Jessie meant when she compared him to
her father, but so far there’s nothing to charge Thomas with.”
“Then Gary will have to release him, unless Thomas can be
proved to have forced Hilda to go to the villa with the intention of killing
her or at least leaving her to die.”
“We can’t force Thomas to admit to that and it can’t be
proved, if he doesn’t confess, and if he isn’t responsible, or even if he is,
he’s not going to confess,” said Cleo. “I’m sure he knows what’s at stake.”
Jessie had been listening quietly, but now she had something
to say.
“Mr Marble can be charged with what he did to me, can’t he?”
“I don’t know, Jessie,” said Cleo. “Maybe you were meeting
him there.”
Jessie looked guilty.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” Cleo continued. “Did he pay you,
Jessie?”
“Do you sell yourself to men?” Dorothy asked.
Jessie nodded very slightly.
“But he came on violent and I don’t do violent, Miss.”
“That’s enough to call it attempted rape, Jessie,” said
Cleo. “Even if he was paying you, you had a right not to be abused.”
Jessie seemed relieved. Her secret was out. She had been
using the villa to sell sex encounters.
“Who else did you see up in the villa bedroom, Jessie?” said Dorothy.
“No one else Miss.”
“Whatever happens, it looks as if Thomas is going get away
with whatever he did to Hilda and leave Marble to take the rap.”
“I can’t say I’m sorry,” said Dorothy. “Shall we have
another coffee before we walk home?”
Jessie went into the kitchen, wishing she had not said so
much.
“So what have you been up to,” said Molly when she brought their
second lot of whisky-laced coffee. The children were now awake, so they were
given a little drink and bounced on knees for a few minutes.
“Jessie looked quite disturbed just now,” said Mollie.
“It was all a bit of a wild goose chase,” said Dorothy. “Jessie
coud add nothing to her story.”
“So you are still looking for the person who set fire to the
villa, I suppose,” said Molly.
“We think we know who did it, but we won’t be able to prove
it.”
“Why don’t you just leave it to the cops to sort it out?”
said Molly.
“Don’t forget that one of them sleeps in my bed,” said Cleo.
“And multi-tasking is not his strong point.”
“I expect you can handle it, Cleo,” said Molly, and Dorothy
looked rather shocked. She took it on herself to put the twins back in their
stroller, as Cleo insisted on calling it, and pushed it of the pub so that she
would not hear any more of the dialogue been Mollie and Cleo.
“He doesn’t need much persuasion, Molly,” said Cleo. “I’d
better go. Dorothy does not like anything with a double meaning. How’s Jack?”
“I’m a bit pregnant, Cleo, and it can’t be Robert’s, can
it?”
“Wonderful news, Molly, and no, it can’t!”
***
No comments:
Post a Comment