Empty Vessels (14 page)

ʻYou knew Ivy Williams?ʼ Boase stared intently at the girl.

ʻYes, I knew her very well. I think thereʼs something you should know – if you donʼt already. Ivy Williams wasnʼt very clever, she couldnʼt read or write particularly well but she got by. She regularly came into the library when I was working there to try to improve herself and she used to ask me to help her choose suitable books that she might like to read. Anyway, one day last year, I probably said something out of turn to her. I knew that she was always wondering who her natural parents were; her mother was dead and it wasnʼt something she would speak to her father about – he would be too upset and she knew, deep down, what good parents they had been to her. Still, she wanted to know more about her background. She said sheʼd always suspected that she had been adopted but knew no more than that. I, at one time, had had to help out at the Union workhouse – the library put me forward to help with their record-keeping which had got into a bit of a mess and so I worked there for about two weeks. Well, when I was there I happened to find out about Ivyʼs birth, in the workhouse – I wasnʼt snooping, I just came across it. What I found out amazed me. Her mother had been sent there as a girl of sixteen from the Hatton place out at Budock and the records said that the girl, Maude Mockett she was called, always maintained that one of Lord Hattonʼs sons was the father; the birth certificate, however, was blank on the paternal side.ʼ

ʻWe know most of this already, Norma,ʼ Bartlett told her politely.

ʻNo, thereʼs more. One day, shortly after I found this out, Ivy came into the library, very upset. She said she couldnʼt go on not knowing about her parents – she even showed me a little photograph she had kept for years; she said she thought her mother might be in the picture.  She felt she had to find out, it was so important to her, so …ʼ Norma paused, ʻso I told her what I knew about the Hattons, everything.ʼ

Boase raised his eyebrows.

ʻI really had no choice – she was desperate and then the last I knew was she told me she was going to make them pay. Have I caused lots of trouble, Mr Bartlett?ʼ

Bartlett didnʼt feel like telling Norma that she had probably caused immense trouble; that possibly even a murder had occurred because of this.

ʻNo, donʼt worry, Norma, donʼt worry.ʼ

ʻThereʼs something else,ʼ she went on, ‘when I found the records and the birth certificates … well, there were two.ʼ

ʻTwo?ʼ Bartlett was really surprised now. ʻWhat do you mean, two?ʼ

ʻIvy Williams was a twin – there were two certificates. The other baby was called Gloria.ʼ

Boaseʼs thoughts immediately jumped back to Claude Bennettʼs office – he might have thought Ivy Williams had been to see him; could this be possible? He looked at Bartlett who sat looking astounded. Thoughts of every description were racing in both menʼs heads now. All this new information made things look very different indeed; it also possibly changed Normaʼs position – not for the better. This girl knew a lot that might put her in danger. For now, though, Bartlett was content to return her to her parents.

Bartlett and Norma Berryman walked up the path to the house Norma had grown up in. Bartlett knocked on the door while Norma stood anxiously behind a small bush outside the window. The girlʼs father opened the door and Bartlett heard a voice call from inside.

ʻWho is it, dear?ʼ

ʻItʼs Mr Bartlett. Hello, Mr Bartlett, will you come in?ʼ

Mrs Berryman came through the passageway, wiping her hands on her apron.

ʻCome in, wonʼt you, how are you?ʼ

ʻIʼve brought someone to see you both.ʼ Bartlett beckoned Norma to come forward. She emerged timidly from behind the bush.

ʻHello, Mum, hello Dad.ʼ

Mr Berryman smiled the biggest smile that Bartlett had ever seen on anyone's face while his wife just stood in the doorway, motionless. In a moment she held out her arms to her daughter.

ʻCome ʼere, you bad girl. Where ʼave ʼe bin? You donʼt know ʼow worried weʼve bin. Come ʼere to your Ma.ʼ

Mother and daughter embraced and sobbed. Mr Berryman held out his hand to Bartlett.

ʻI donʼt know what to say to you, Mr Bartlett, sir, indeed I donʼt. Youʼve given me the best gift Iʼve ever ʼad and I canʼt thank you enough.ʼ

Mrs Berryman looked up, unable to speak, but her face told Bartlett everything he needed to know. Quietly he turned and walked back up the garden and through the gate.

Chapter Ten

Returning to his office, Bartlett found his assistant at his desk making notes.

ʻHello, Boase, youʼll be pleased to hear there was a very happy reunion – very happy indeed. We now have one less thing to worry about – although we need to keep an eye on Norma, she knows too much. What are you up to?ʼ

ʻSir, weʼve just been sent the post-mortem results which were exactly as we expected, but also this letter was found on the body.ʼ

Boase handed him the letter.

ʻI went straight round to speak to Freddie Giles and he gave me an original letter written by Harry Watson-Booth – the writing is similar, but itʼs not by the same hand. This was sent to Rupert Hatton to arrange a rendezvous and he obviously didnʼt suspect that there was anything strange about the writing; at least, if he had, why would he have turned up? Someone else, the killer, wrote this and sent it to set up Hattonʼs murder. Apart from Frank Wilson, who else could it be?

Bartlett listened thoughtfully.

ʻI admit, I have absolutely no idea whatʼs going on – perhaps everything will become clearer if we pick up Frank Wilson tonight; letʼs wait and see. In the meantime, I think we should keep an eye on both Norma Berryman
and
Algernon Hatton – they might both be in danger for very different reasons.ʼ

At five minutes to eleven, Bartlett and Boase let Algernon Hatton into their office. Bartlett asked him to sit down.

ʻNow do we all know what weʼre doing? Mr Hatton?ʼ

ʻYes, yes, I think so. Iʼm so nervous, Inspector Bartlett – what if anything goes wrong?ʼ

ʻDonʼt you worry about anything except dropping the money as weʼve arranged, thatʼs all you need to do. All right, Boase, are you ready?ʼ

ʻReady, sir.ʼ

Bartlett buttoned up his coat.

ʻGood, then letʼs go.ʼ

Boase stopped the car about a ten-minute walk from the cemetery and the three men split up and approached it from different directions. They were all to get a good view of the foreign monument, which was large and tall and so could be easily seen above the others. Hatton walked down the hill a short way and stopped at a small gate which led into the cemetery; the grave was quite near. The moonlight shone across this grave and the few immediately surrounding it. Bartlett walked down the hill towards Swanpool to approach from a lower gate while Boase entered right at the top. The cemetery was large and, thankfully, had several entrances. By half past eleven, all three men had a good view of the stone. Hatton looked at his watch then walked towards the grave carrying the package. As he reached it, he looked around him – Bartlett and Boase were well hidden; he hoped they were still around, he was feeling rather more nervous now. He dropped the package between the grave and the hedge and, leaving by the nearest side gate, as instructed by Bartlett, began the walk back to the car. Bartlett and Boase watched all this and remained still. The moon continued to light up this part of the cemetery and the white package could be clearly seen. Bartlett looked at his watch; it was a quarter to twelve. He hoped this would all go to plan. A couple of party-goers, seemingly the worse for drink, stumbled down the hill, laughing and joking. Still no sign of anyone else. The wait continued.

Boase felt a sneeze coming on and he pinched his nose hard to stifle it which action was, happily, successful. He had installed himself into such a small, awkward vantage point that his knees were beginning to feel extremely cramped. How he wished that something would happen, or that he could at least stretch his legs, just a little. He managed to look at his watch; two minutes past midnight. He hoped the wait wouldnʼt be much longer. He couldnʼt see Bartlett – he assumed he must be nearby. A rat ran swiftly across Boaseʼs feet and he jumped. He saw the rodent scuttling across the nearby graves and smiled to himself in relief. He heard a noise. Bartlett had heard it too. It was the sound of the top gate opening – Boase recognised it as it had made the same sound when he had entered by it earlier. Both men listened intently. The wind had begun to blow and it moaned quietly between the headstones. Boaseʼs heart was racing now. The two men expected to hear footsteps or the rustle of a raincoat – something, anything. But nothing came.

Fifteen minutes after midnight and still nothing. Boase looked up to see Bartlett standing beside him. He spoke in a low voice.

ʻI donʼt want to spend all night here, Boase. You go back to the station, get a constable to stay here for the rest of the night and let Hatton go home. Come back with the relief and then you can pick me up. Iʼll wait here. I donʼt want to take that package in case Wilson turns up later on. Give the constable strict instructions on what to do if he shows up.'

Boase stood up and prepared to leave the cemetery. Bartlett returned to his original place and waited. About twenty minutes later, Boase returned with Constable Penhaligon who, having already been briefed, took up his place from where he could readily see the white package.

ʻNo falling asleep on the job now, Penhaligon,ʼ joked Boase.

ʻNo chance, sir,ʼ came the reply.

Bartlett and Boase returned to their homes soon afterwards. Bartlett felt the next day would be hectic and thought a few hours sleep wouldnʼt go amiss.

At nine oʼclock in the morning a weary Bartlett and Boase turned up together at the police station, later than usual. About ten minutes later Constable Penhaligon arrived – carrying the package.

ʻNo show, sir,ʼ he said handing the money to Bartlett – I waited until almost nine oʼclock.ʼ

ʻThanks, Penhaligon,ʼ said Bartlett taking the money and putting it on his desk. ‘You go home and get some sleep now – you deserve it.ʼ

Penhaligon stifled a yawn and left the station.

Boase handed Bartlett a strong cup of tea.

ʻWhat now, sir?ʼ

ʻYou tell me, Boase. Iʼve no idea – why didnʼt Wilson show up?ʼ

ʻI can only think that he changed his mind about the money, killed Hatton, and now …

ʻGo on,ʼ prompted Bartlett.

ʻAnd now, heʼs going to kill the other one.ʼ

ʻDo you really think so?ʼ

ʻI donʼt know what to think, sir. Who wouldnʼt want five hundred pounds of easy money? At the moment we donʼt know if the killer of Ivy Williams is the same as that of Rupert Hatton – or even if thereʼs going to be another murder.ʼ

ʻThatʼs our worry now, Boase – weʼre going to have to protect Algernon Hatton, just in case youʼre right. We also need to look out for Norma Berryman – she knows a lot, probably too much. This is all a mystery to me. This afternoon I think we should go back to Swanpool and have another look at the Hatton murder scene, see if thereʼs anything weʼve missed.ʼ

At midday, Algernon Hatton came into the station asking for Bartlett. The desk sergeant announced him and he was shown into the inner office.

ʻI was just wondering,ʼ he began, ʼif the money was collected last night?ʼ

ʻNo, it wasnʼt,ʼ replied Bartlett. ʻYou may as well have it back, sir – here it is.ʼ

Algernon took the package.

ʻI was just passing, Iʼm taking my mother to her lunch club and I thought you might like to know that, following the inquest, my brotherʼs funeral is going to be held on Wednesday. Weʼd like you to come, if you can, that is.ʼ

ʻWeʼd like that too, sir,ʼ replied Bartlett holding the door open for Algernon Hatton.

ʻGood day, sir.ʼ

ʻGood day, Inspector Bartlett.ʼ

ʻWould we?ʼ Boase looked puzzled.

ʻWould we what?ʼ Bartlett was settling back into his chair.

ʻWould we like to come to the funeral?ʼ

ʻOf course we would, my boy – we can have a look, see whoʼs there, see if thereʼs anything unusual going on. Strange that the coroner is allowing a funeral so soon though. But, you never know, Boase, what you might see or hear. Weʼll be there.ʼ

At two oʼclock in the afternoon, Bartlett and Boase took a trip to Swanpool to have another look at the scene of the murder. It was a bright sunny afternoon and many people were walking their dogs on the beach.

ʻNice day for Topper,ʼ observed Bartlett.

The two men reached the west side of the pool and began having a look around. This had already been done but Bartlett couldnʼt believe there wasnʼt something else that could help.

ʻI donʼt understand, sir.ʼ Boase was looking on the ground. ʻNo other footprints whatsoever, not even the next morning – there was nothing besides the one set.ʼ

ʻI donʼt know the answer to that. As you say, absolutely nothing. Someone came up to Rupert Hatton, here at this very spot, shot him through the head and left. No footprints. No traces of anything. All there was to be found were a couple of Rupertʼs cigarettes and his own footprints, which prove nothing – he was kept waiting so he had a couple of smokes and paced – so what?ʼ

‘Weʼre sure it wasnʼt suicide now – not after reading that note arranging the
rendezvous – 
and, with the best will in the world, I donʼt think Hatton was clever enough to construct a double bluff by sending that letter to himself to make it look like someone had killed him. Anyway, what would be the point in that; come to that, whatʼs the point in anything?ʼ

Boase quickly changed the subject – if Bartlett was going to get all philosophical now, he wasnʼt interested; that kind of talk didnʼt do anyone any good.

As the two struggled to make sense of the whole thing, life in Falmouth was going on much the same as usual for everyone else. It had become routine on Saturday nights for Kitty and Eddy to have tea at the Pengellys'. This was usually followed by a few card games. Although Kitty wouldnʼt want to be with anyone else besides Eddy, she desperately missed her own family. It was going to take some getting used to, she could see that. Eddy realised this and was quite happy to accompany her home every Saturday night. Tonight was no exception.

Kitty and Eddy knocked at the door at half past six.

ʻTheyʼre ʼere, theyʼre ʼere,ʼ squealed Ruby to her mother as she ran to open the door.

ʻCome in, you two – you donʼt need to knock, Kit, this is still your ʼome.ʼ

The three went into the kitchen where Rose Pengelly was putting the plates out on the table.

ʻʼEllo, you two, evʼrything all right?ʼ

Kitty gave her mother a big bunch of flowers.

ʻEverythingʼs fine, Ma,ʼ she said kissing her mother on the cheek.

ʻDa and Jack not back yet?ʼ

ʻNo, theyʼll be ʼere in a minute or two. Ruby, put an extra chair for Eddy, will you, love?ʼ

Within half an hour the entire family was sitting down together, eating dinner and exchanging stories. Jack finished his food first, as usual.

ʻI ʼeard there was another murder at Swanpool last week. One of them posh twins from Budock, they say. Ruby, you should get your policeman friend round ʼere anʼ ʼe can tell us all the gory details.ʼ

ʻShut up, Jack. I donʼt want such talk at my table, thank you.ʼ Rose liked a bit of gossip but not this kind.

ʻAnyway, ʼeʼs not my policeman friend, as you put it, actually.ʼ Ruby looked indignant.

Jack persisted.

ʻYeah, ʼe is – you was in that dancinʼ competition with ʼim.ʼ

ʻSo?ʼ

Kitty put an end to the bickering – Eddy was an only child and all this was new to him.

ʻWhat did you spend your fifty bob on, Rube?ʼ

ʻWell, I bought a lovely new ʼat – it was ever such a bargain, only nineteen and eleven. You should see it, Kit, itʼs a cloche in blue taffeta; Iʼll go anʼ get it in a minute if you like – you can try it on. Anʼ I bought a pair of shoes and two pairs of silk stockings. I was able to open an account at the West End store and now if I want anything, I just put it on me account – you should get one, Kit, all you ʼave to do is pay a shilling a week anʼ then you can go anʼ buy things when you want to.ʼ

Rose snorted.

ʻWhat a fine thing that is, getting in debt before youʼve even started out. Itʼll all end in tears. Anʼ whoever ʼeard of a nineteen and eleven ʼat, for goodness' sake?ʼ

ʻIʼll be careful, Ma, I promise – evʼryone likes new clothes.ʼ

ʻ'Ow you settlinʼ into that nobby place of yours, Kit?ʼ asked Jack.

ʻOoh, Jack, itʼs lovely anʼ you still ʼavenʼt bin to visit us yet. I know, why donʼt you all come for tea tomorrow and then Iʼll show you round?ʼ

Kitty looked at Eddy, momentarily forgetting he was there, so quiet was he.

ʻWould that be all right, Ed?ʼ

ʻOf course – itʼd be lovely.ʼ

ʻThatʼs settled then, come at three oʼclock – youʼll come wonʼt you, Da?ʼ

ʻJust you try anʼ stop me.ʼ Bill began to fill his pipe. ʻIʼm just off outside for a smoke. Dʼyou want to join me, Eddy?ʼ

The two men went out into the yard where Eddy lit a cigarette. Bill turned to him.

ʻIʼve seen a change in my Kitty since she married you – I donʼt think Iʼve ever seen ʼer so ʼappy. You carry on like that and weʼll always rub along very nicely, me anʼ you.ʼ

ʻI promise Iʼll always look after her, Mr Pengelly.ʼ

ʻI think, young man, itʼs about time you called me Bill.ʼ

ʻAll right then, Bill.ʼ

Inside Jack and Ruby cleared away the tea things while Kitty and Rose sat and talked. Rose picked up her knitting.

ʻEddyʼs such a nice young man, I really like ʼim – anʼ ʼeʼs good to you.ʼ

ʻI really love ʼim, Ma.ʼ

ʻAnyone with eyes in their ʼead can see that.ʼ Rose smiled. She was so happy for Kitty. She
hoped that Ruby would find someone as nice as Eddy.

ʻWe might be gettinʼ a car, Ma.ʼ

Jack came rushing in from the kitchen.

ʻDid you say a car? Well, youʼll be too important to speak to the likes of us soon then.ʼ

ʻDonʼt be stupid, Jack – itʼll only be a second-hand one, nothing grand.ʼ

Rose looked up from her knitting.

ʻEven so, no one in this family ʼas ever owned a motor car before.ʼ