'Sorry,' he said lamely. 'I suppose that's what comes of hurrying down the street.' Almost as a diversion, he held out his hand. 'Harry Thompson, Premier Insurance Company,' he said. 'It is very good of you to spare the time to see me, Miss Prenderley.'
Time?' she answered. Time's nothing. I've got plenty of time. You find you do when you get older.' She motioned him to sit at the table. 'I'll get you a cup of tea,' she said. 'George Prenderley came round to tell me you had phoned. That side of the family haven't said a dicky-bird to me for years. I suppose when they heard it was insurance they thought there might be something in it for them.'
She went into a kitchen and Davies heard her filling the kettle and lighting the gas. He got up and squinted closely at the mantelshelf photograph. 'It was the only way we could do it,' he called out to her. 'We knew you lived somewhere in the Southend district so I had my assistant call all the Prenderleys in this area.'
'We're all here,' she called back. 'All in a couple of miles of each other. But we're not much of a family. Hardly anybody talks to anybody else. There's only Tom, my brother, who lives away, and that's only at Purwell. I suppose he's still alive. When they die is the only time you get any news of them.'
She returned with the tea on a tray with a teapot in the shape of a cottage and the words 'A present from Clacton' on the side. 'It's a bit of excitement anyway,' she said, putting a small embroidered cloth on the table and placing the tray on that. 'You coming here. I don't get many strangers. When they do come they either want to buy my old furniture and bits for next to nothing, or they're people gassing on about God.' She poured the tea. Davies pointed to the photograph on the mantelshelf.
'Who is that gentleman?' he asked as casually as he could.
'Billy
’
she said. 'Billy Dobson. He died in the War. At least he was never found. He was
...'
She stopped and looked into his face. 'It's not about Billy is it? He's not turned up?' The teapot was frozen in her hand. 'I always thought he would.'
'What makes you say that?' asked Davies carefully.
'Billy? He could wriggle out of a milk tin.'
'He actually did
’
said Davies.
Her puffy face paled. 'I knew he would,' she whispered angrily. 'I knew the bugger would.' Her expression hardened. 'So he wasn't dead,' she muttered. 'But he never got in touch.'
'Tell me about Billy,' said Davies. 'Would you mind?'
'I don't mind,' she told him slowly. Her eyes showed that she was thinking of long ago. 'Why should I?'
Davies thought how odd it was that she had not asked him why he was there, what his business was; it was as if she had been waiting for years to tell him. Her voice was slow but there was a change taking place in her eyes. 'A holy terror if ever there was,' she said with a suspicion of eagerness. 'All the girls loved him. But I was the only one he wanted to marry and I turned him down.' 'Why was that?'
'Too short,' she said emphatically. 'For one thing. For another, the way he lived was not very steady. Burglary. You'd never know when, or if, he was coming home. That's what I said to myself. Billy had been through the windows of half the big houses in Essex, and outside. He was reckoned to have got into Sandringham, you know, where the King lived. And the King was
in
at the time. Edward the Eighth, the one that resigned.'
'He had aspirations?' said Davies, adding: 'Billy.'
'I don't know about that,' she replied, still almost dreamily. 'He liked a better class of thieving. He always worked the same. He'd get to know one of the girl servants. He was only dinky, as I say, but he knew how to get around girls. With his wicked eyes and his bright little teeth, full of jokes and flattering nineteen to the dozen. Off he'd take them for the day at Clacton, on the roundabouts and side-shows, walk along the front, fish and chips on the bus coming back, and that was that. He could sing too. They'd do anything he'd ask them. I know, I was one who did. The next thing you know, you'd be leaving a window open for him.' Abruptly, she came out of the reverie. 'I'm telling you all this,' she said guiltily, 'and I don't know why. What's it for? Tell me about him not being dead.'
'He is now
’
said Davies sombrely. 'He died last October. In a canal in London.'
'He couldn't swim
’
she said, shaking her head. 'He wouldn't even go in up to his knees at Clacton. He could climb but not swim.'
'He lived his last years in a men's hostel
’
continued Davies carefully. 'Nobody knew much about him. He reappeared after the War with a different name - he called himself Brock. Wilfred Henry Brock. Known as Lofty.'
A soft smile settled on her pink face. 'Lofty
’
she said. 'Fancy that.'
'When he died
’
said Davies, 'the hostel people went through his belongings. There wasn't much, but this was there.' He took from his pocket an envelope, and from it produced the picture of the girl in the tin frame. At once she reached out for it as an eager child might reach for a toy.
'Oh
’
she breathed, looking into her own youthful face. 'My Chelmsford jail picture.' She looked up, her eyes happy. 'And he had this still
’
she said.
'It was in an envelope with your name on it, Mavis Anne Prenderley,' he said. 'But no address or anything. That's why it has taken me so long to find you.'
'Just to give it back?' she said.
'Not really.' He had to tell his lies carefully now. There were some other things.'
A delayed embarrassment seized her. 'Oh,' she said, her pink hands going to her mouth. 'Now you know I was in Chelmsford. In prison. I just told you. I've never told anybody.'
'Don't worry,' he said, patting her hand as she lowered it. 'It was a long time ago and all this is confidential.'
'They sent me in because it wasn't the first time,' she admitted. 'I'd been leaving windows open for Billy before that. We'd worked together for quite a long time. I'd get a job in the house and then he would pinch the silver. It was while I was inside Chelmsford that he started working with other girls.' She looked fondly at the photograph. 'They took these in the chapel
’
she said. 'They only used it for prayers on Sunday so it was empty the rest of the time. The man would tell you to look at the Cross and then he'd take the photo. That's why I'm staring like that.'
Feelings of guilt and worry moved within Davies. When there were steps and voices from outside the front door, he found himself glancing in that direction as if he believed that Inspector Joliffe and a posse of Essex Constabulary were about to burst in. 'There was also this,' he said to the woman. He took out the bag containing the single pearl.
Once again she sounded a small exclamation of recognition. 'Now, look at that,' she said. 'I never thought I'd see that again!'
'It was the only thing of real value he left
...
among his possessions,' said Davies.
Diffidently her fingers came across the table and she took the pearl. 'Billy always reckoned he'd give me this.'
Hurriedly, Davies held out his hand. 'I'm afraid,' he flustered, 'I can't let you have it just yet.'
'Oh, I know that,' she said reasonably, handing the pearl back. 'I wouldn't want it.
‘
know where he got it. It might be years ago, but it's still stolen.'
'That was all he had,' said Davies, putting the pearl away. He glanced at the photograph in the frame which lay between them on the table. Without seeming to catch his look, she picked it up and handed it to him.
'It's all ancient history
’
she said. 'Me included.'
'What did he do with the other stuff?' Davies asked her. 'The proceeds of the robberies? He didn't appear to spend much.'
'Not even on girls,' she agreed. 'Fish and chips on the bus coming home from Clacton isn't what you'd call high living, is it?' She regarded him steadily. 'He tucked it away somewhere. Hid it. I don't know where. I bet nobody else does either, not now Billy's gone. He never believed in trying to get rid of stuff too early, too quick. That was how you got found out, he used to say. And the prices were bad. His idea was to tuck it all away, for years if necessary. When he was called up for the army, he thought it would give him a couple of years' break before he went back for the stuff he'd hidden.'
'Then he thought of coming back under another name,' suggested Davies. 'Starting again and just picking the odd bit of jewellery out to sell? But it didn't work out like that. He apparently never went back to it. He lived in near poverty.'
'Could be that somebody got there before him,' said Mavis Prenderley. 'All I know is it wasn't me.'
He knew it was time to go. 'I'll let you know what happens,' he said, rising and shaking hands with her. He hesitated again over the fabrication. 'About the insurance. You may well benefit.'
She smiled at him. 'You're a policeman, you are,' she said.
Davies was shocked. His mouth opened but only disjointed words emerged. 'I'm ... me? Police?'
'I can tell a copper from here to the sea front,' she said. 'But it's all right. I'm in the clear. I haven't done anything wrong for years.'
'I'm sorry,' Davies mumbled. His face was hot.
'It's all right,' she repeated. 'I was expecting you anyway. Inspector Joliffe from Chelmsford said you'd probably be along.'
Davies's lips still hurt from all the pretence of singing aboard the choral coach. He could feel how sore they were against the edge of the beer tankard. 'All the way there,' he complained to Mod, 'and all the ruddy way back. And they sang the two hours in the middle as well. They must have mouths like rhinos.'
'Except Jemma,' suggested Mod, looking up expectantly.
'Except Jemma,' he agreed. 'She only sings the solo bits.'
They drank up and
headed towards 'Bali Hi', Furt
man Gardens. The evenings were a touch lighter now. Soon the clocks would be changing. Soon Davies would be shedding his long Johns. They had left The Babe In Arms at an unusually early time so that Davies could give some attention to his dog which had thrown a mad mood during the day his master was absent at Southend, bolting from the garage and colliding with a Greek-born bookmaker's clerk in the street. The man had been toppled, his small change had rolled away and his betting slips were scattered to the spring-time wind. The early prostitute, Venus the Evening Star as Davies had always called her, had witnessed the affray and had hardly stopped laughing since. The dog had allowed himself to be captured by her, thus saving further mayhem.
Kitty was sitting in the back seat of the Vanguard with the door open like a soldier in a sentry box. He growled, as was his habit, when he saw Davies but then, to the man's intense pleasure, the dog rubbed his tangled head against him and even performed a token lick with his damp salmon tongue.
'See that,' said Davies proudly to Mod. 'See, he likes me.'
'It's taken him six years to make up his mind,' pointed out Mod. 'I think he's just ashamed of all the palaver yesterday. He very nearly brained the Greek.'
'I'll be getting complaints then,' said Davies. He patted the dog while he had the chance, while the animal's contrite mood prevailed.
Mod said he did not think so. 'The girl, Venus, has got some sort of hold over the Greek. I hate to think what it might be. When the dog ran to her, the matter was over.'
'Did the naughty Greek get in your way then?' Davies said, bending close to the dog. Kitty had come to the end of his period of good temper and emitted a slow growl. Davies apologized and went to prepare his dinner.
'Why do you think
the Essex police told the Pren
derley lady that you were coming?' Mod called to him.
'It was Joliffe, not the Essex police in general,' said Davies. 'And he only told her I
might
turn up. And he didn't tell her why. It was just a notion of his.' He brought the large bowl to the door of the car and Kitty stepped down regally to meet his dinner.
'Joliffe,' continued Davies, 'is a notion-copper.'
'Like you,' suggested Mod.
'Only he's got the clout to follow up his hunches,' said Davies. Mod had filled the dog's water bowl and they left the garage, solemnly wishing the animal good night. He did not glance up from his dish.
As they walked from the yard and into Furtman Gardens, Davies said: 'In the back of Joliffe's mind I think he believes there might just be something in all this. I only went over the basic facts and, whatever his notion is, it's not directly concerned with the death of
Billy Dobson, alias Lofty Brock. But a good copper has a sort of small section of his nose that smells out possibilities. The Prenderley family have been around for years in his division and I wouldn't be surprised if their name hasn't come up at times during the course of police business. 'Smoke and fire
’
said Mod.
'Yes. I'll bet you that once I'd gone. Inspector Joliffe called for all the records on the Prenderley family. He probably knows some of them pretty well if he's spent all his police service on that patch. I'm sure he knew Mavis Prenderley previously. She sounded as if he was no stranger.'