Furious Old Women (12 page)

In three of his cases Carolus had been lucky, for his friend John Moore had been in charge of investigations. In one case he had been forced almost to blackmail an obstinate Detective Sergeant into discovering the truth.
In two other cases the police had been sceptical but not obstructive. Now he had a feeling that he would be up against open hostility. Where the police were most baffled they were apt to be irritated by the curiosity of outsiders. An incident like this, a report to them of the whereabouts of Millicent Griggs's jewellery, so far from earning their gratitude for the assistance rendered, would make them peevish and suspicious.

Carolus was not wrong. The Detective Inspector was a small forceful stocky man who sought to take charge of the situation at once. He eyed Carolus and Mugger impatiently.

“Now which of you came on this jewellery?” he asked.

Carolus lit a cigarette and Mugger looked owlish.

“Come along, come along,” said Detective Inspector Champer. “We haven't got all night. Which was it?”

Slatt tried to intervene.

“It was Mugger who …” he began.

“I'm not asking you,” snapped Champer. “Which is Mugger of you two?”

Mugger, without changing his expression, began to speak.

“I don't know whether you've got indigestion,” he said sadly. “If so you'd better wait till you're in a proper state to talk to people. I'm going home.”

Champer turned to Slatt.

“I thought you said one of these men wanted to show us where he is supposed to have found these jewels?”

“So he did. He told me he'd take me. Mugger it was,” said Slatt anxiously.

“Is your name Mugger?” said the Detective Inspector in a more gentle tone.

“Yes,” said Mugger and was silent.

“Did you find the jewels?”

“Yes.”

Champer turned to Carolus.

“What have you got to do with it?”

Carolus ignored this but again Slatt broke in, this time more successfully.

“It was this gentleman persuaded Mugger to give his information,” he explained.

Champer stared at Carolus with open hostility.

“Your name Deene?” he said, and Carolus nodded. “I was told you were hanging round making a nuisance of yourself here. Let me warn you at once, Mr Deene, that I don't like outsiders nosing into any case I'm investigating and what's more I won't have it. You make one move which can be considered obstructing the police and I'll have you in Court at once. You may have found some police officers who have put up with your inquisitiveness—I'm not one of them.”

“I've told him,” put in Slatt.

“Leave this to me, will you, Slatt? I hope we understand one another, Mr Deene?”

Carolus looked at the little man steadily.

“Did you know that Dundas Griggs, the old lady's nephew, was in Gladhurst on the afternoon of her death?” he asked.

“He … What? Don't try to give
me
information. You may have found other senior police officers who thought your statements of some consequence. You won't find that with me. It's scarcely likely that you could have gathered facts we're unaware of. Or do you think you know who killed Millicent Griggs?”

“No. But I think I know
how
she was killed which in this case is all-important. Have a cigarette?”

“What's this about the nephew?” asked Champer suddenly and sulkily.

“Oh nothing. He lives in Burley. Inherits from Millicent Griggs. Was over here in a car on the afternoon of the murder. That's all I know.”

Champer grunted.

“Trying, isn't it?” said Carolus. “All this vagueness.
I could almost wish another murder would come along and give a lead to the first.”

Champer visibly started.

“Another murder?” he said. “What makes you think there's going to be another murder?”

“Oh, not necessarily,” said Carolus. “I only thought it might make things coalesce.”

“I should have thought that if ever there was a case in which not to expect a second murder it was this one. It's a brutal crime with an obvious motive. It's done and I can't see it being repeated.”

“You evidently take the view that Millicent Griggs was killed for the sake of immediate robbery?”

“Don't you, for heaven's sake?”

“No. I don't. And certainly not in as simple a form as that.”

Champer stood up.

“I've no business to be discussing this case with you, Mr Deene. It's against all my principles.” Carolus rose too.

“I'll leave you,” he said. “You go and see Mugger's ‘jools'. It's quite time I had a drink.”

Sturdy little Champer had evidently had enough of this too.

“Good-night, Mr Deene,” he said without a smile.

“Good-night, Inspector,” returned Carolus, then added infuriatingly—” Odd about those galoshes, wasn't it?”

Champer flushed with irritation.

“What galoshes?” he almost shouted.

“Didn't Mrs Rumble report them after all? Or perhaps your man here didn't think it worth mentioning? I was interested anyway.”

Champer's face promised nothing very pleasant for Slatt as Carolus finally escaped into the still persistent rain.

He made straight for the Black Horse and found he was the only customer. George Larkin served him with
the large Scotch he ordered and silence fell on the public bar.

For once Carolus was hopelessly at a loss. It was not only the natural surliness of the innkeeper which made him unapproachable—there was something else, a reserve, a hostility, or was it no more than blind stupidity which enshrouded him? If Carolus had been a policeman enquiring he would doubtless have been given some sort of explanation for Larkin's visit to the church or the churchyard on the fatal afternoon, but as a private customer at the pub how could he even bring up the subject?

Suddenly George Larkin spoke.

“S'that right you're trying to find out about the murder?” he asked.

Carolus kept his head and nodded moodily.

“Think you will?”

“I don't know. It's hard going.”

George Larkin relapsed into silence. Carolus drank his whisky. No one entered and a minute passed.

“I suppose someone's told you I went up to the churchyard that afternoon?”

Carolus nodded.

“Can't mind their own business in this place. Never have been able to.”

“Most small places are like that.”

“But not as bad as this one.”

Carolus felt as though he was in a fairy story and if he asked a question he would break the spell.

“Yes, I went up there. With my son. 'Bout half-past three it must have been.”

“I'll have another Scotch,” said Carolus.

George Larkin poured it.

“Wife's grave,” he said unexpectedly. “Generally go up there about once a month to see it's decently kept.”

“I understand.”

“My wife died eight years ago,” continued George Larkin; then added the ugly word: “Cancer.”

Carolus could only nod sympathetically.

“She suffered a lot. She's buried not far from where Chilling's been laid.”

“You noticed the open grave then?”

“Yes. Rumble had just finished it.”

“You didn't see anyone about except Rumble and Mugger?”

“No. We didn't. We weren't there five minutes.”

“Came straight back?”

“Yes. It's a funny thing we happened to go on that afternoon. But there you are.”

“Have a drink?” suggested Carolus.

“Thanks. I'll have a bitter. I suppose someone will try and make mischief about us being up there at the time.”

At last the door opened and in a moment the public bar was cheered by the bouncing, laughing, talkative personality of the ‘woman known as Flo'.

“Well,” she said. “You do look a gloomy pair to be sure, standing here with no one in. I'll have a Milk Stout, Mr Larkin. I hear the police have found the jewellery taken from Miss Griggs.”

George Larkin stared at her in a stupefied manner.

“Where?” he asked.

“I don't know where but they've found it. Just shows doesn't it? You
do
look a solemn pair and no mistake. You make me feel I want to do Knees Up Mother Brown to wake you up. What a life! Never stops raining, does it? I got soaked coming up Church Lane.” She turned to Carolus. “I've seen you before, haven't I? I thought so. Once seen never forgotten. You're not always such a dismal jimmy, are you? I can see I shall have to start cheering you up. They call me a ray of sunshine but you wouldn't say so if you could see me the morning after! Thank you, I don't mind if I do have another. Do you know the story about the man who went to the doctor….”

“Now, Flo,” warned George Larkin.

“It's all right. It's not
that
one. I wouldn't tell that one to a stranger. Well, not quite a stranger but you know
what I mean. Cheerio! Is that your car outside? You can give me a ride in that one of these days only don't do like old Mr Murdoch did that time and take me right out somewhere then say: ‘If you don't, you'll walk back! ‘Dirty trick, wasn't it? But I didn't mind. He wasn't a bad old fellow. I've known worse anyway. Here, did I ever tell you about that farmer over at Breadley? Proper devil, he was. I began to wonder if I should get out of there alive. Like Bluebeard, really. I thought my last hour had come. But in the end it was nothing. All talk. You do get them, don't you?”

“You ask for it,” said George Larkin darkly.

“Oh, I didn't mind. As long as I don't get banged on the head like poor old Miss Griggs. Wicked thing, that was. I never liked her, the old hypocrite, but I don't want to see anyone banged on the head for no fault of their own. I must have missed her by minutes, too. I was in Church Lane that afternoon just after dark. Never mind who with. I was on my way home.”

“That's not your way home.”

“You know what I mean,” said Flo. “I wasn't there above a quarter of an hour. But I never heard anything. Or saw anything. Well, I wasn't thinking of anything like that. It was a nice dark night, not raining like it is now. Oh well, she's Gone, so it's no use our moaning about it. Let's have another Milk Stout and give the gentleman a whisky. A little of what you fancy does you good. I don't believe you're such a Sunday School as you look, if the truth were known. I've seen that quiet kind before. I wouldn't trust you far away from home. Not that I've ever been one to push myself. But You Can Tell, can't you? Oh well, anything for a laugh.”

“You should really form an understanding with Mugger. He tells me, somewhat graphically, that he ‘likes a bit of fun ‘.”

“Fred Mugger? An understanding? Me and old Fred Mugger have been friends for years. You don't want to get taken in by that gloomy face of his. He's a proper lack-in-the-Box
when he gets going. As a matter of fact it was Fred Mugger I was meeting that evening I told you about in Church Lane. What's wrong with that? Even if we did know one another at school. Nice sort of monkey he was then, too. There used to be a shed at the back where they kept wood and that and young Fred, he can't have been more than fourteen years old at the time, got hold of me in there and before I knew where I was, there you were. Yes, it was him I was meeting that night in Church Lane and I remember how angry he was when someone switched his motor-bike headlight on us from the top of the lane when we least expected it. I laughed, of course, but you should have seen his face!”

“I thought you saw no one and heard nothing that night?”

“Nor we didn't because as soon as this motor-bike rider had thrown his lights down the lane and seen us, I suppose, he was Off as fast as he could go. Never came into the lane at all so that to this day I never knew who it was. I didn't mind but it quite upset Fred. You might not think it but he's very shy. Not in what he says but over anything like that. I said to him at the time, ‘What's it matter?' I said. I could hardly speak for laughing. But he took it serious. ‘I don't like anyone to come prying and peeping like that', he said.”

“You're sure it was a motor-bike, not one of these other contrivances on the roads?”

“Quite sure. You could hear the engine and there was only the one light.”

“What time did it appear?”

“It was only just dark. Can't have been much more than five. Perhaps a quarter past.”

“I see.”

“Tell you the truth I'd almost forgotten about it till you brought it up. It wasn't the first time I've been caught when I shouldn't. Good thing it was old Fred Mugger and no one else.”

“Why?”

“Oh, everyone knows Fred. Always been the same ever since he was at school. No one takes any notice. But it might have been someone who'd have caused Talk. There's quite enough of that already.”

“Someone like Commander Fyfe, for instance?” suggested Carolus.

The jolly loud laugh of Flo filled the room.

“What a thing to say!” she said. “I don't know what put such an idea into your head! ‘Pon my word, you have got a wicked mind! I haven't seen him for a week, anyway. He never comes in here. Says he can't leave his wife at night. Oh well, I shall have many a laugh thinking of what you said. I knew there was more than meets the eye about you. I knew that as soon as ever I saw you. Another Milk Stout? Yes, I don't mind.”

“You said just now you didn't like Millicent Griggs. I wonder why.”

“Because she had a nasty, dirty mind,” said Flo with sudden feeling. “I know it if no else did. There was nothing she liked better than getting me to herself and asking questions.”

“What sort of questions?”

“Nasty. It would turn you up if I was to tell you. What this man had done and what that one had said. Quite creepy it used to make me feel. I mean, I'm not one for the straight and narrow, but I do bar talking about it in that horrible way. And she was the same with any woman she thought could tell her anything.”