A Fool and His Money (18 page)

Bartlett sat in his chair tapping his fingers on the desk. He was angry.

‘What did he say, sir?'

Bartlett looked up.

‘He said it's all
my
fault and I'm to sort it out.'

‘Crikey – no wonder you're angry, sir. Anything I can do?'

‘I don't even know what
I
can do – Greet's caused all this mess and now I'm supposed to put it right. What does he expect me to do – bring a man back from the dead?'

‘I'm sorry, sir. What exactly did he say?'

‘Well, he had plenty to say, believe me, but mainly that we had to find out where the other gun was and investigate its current owner.'

‘Well, that's easier said than done.'

‘You're damned right. What a business. What a terrible mess – and he's left it all to me.'

‘No, sir – he's left it all to
us
. I'm partly to blame for raking all this over about the guns.'

‘No, no you're not – it was the right thing to do. The wrong thing to do was to let him take over the case – it's all about speed and statistics with him, all the time. What happened to good, old-fashioned policing, eh?'

‘Don't worry, sir. We'll put it right – we have to now, because we can't leave someone at large with that other gun.'

‘No, quite, but where do we start? Just look how much trouble that man's caused, Boase. He's got the cheek to go on and on at me that it's about time I thought about hanging up my boots – well, he should bury his … preferably while he's still wearing them.'

‘Sir!' Boase was startled by this unusual outburst by Bartlett.

‘Well, you must feel the same, Boase. What started off as a clown being subjected to extortion could have been nipped in the bud in all probability – now look, it's literally turned into a circus and not in a good way.'

‘Well, you know what they say, sir.'

‘What?'

‘A fool and his money …'

‘Go and fetch some tea, Boase, before I clobber you.'

Bartlett was grinning, glad of some light relief, but inside he was in turmoil. How would he solve this problem?'

‘Have you got anything for the church fête, Mum?'

Irene Bartlett was preparing a basket of food to take to the church. Topper had been eagerly following her in and out of the garden as she brought in vegetables.

‘Topper – as far as I know, you don't eat raw vegetables. OK – try a bit of carrot.'

Irene handed the dog a piece of the vegetable and he took it gently from her. Giving her a puzzled look, he dropped it instantly onto the floor.

‘See … I knew you wouldn't like it. Wait a minute and I'll go and get you a biscuit. Would you like that?'

Caroline was in the kitchen and took down a large tin from a shelf. Topper wagged his tail – this was
his
very own tin.

‘Here you are, boy. She's horrible, isn't she, to give you raw carrot?'

Topper took the biscuit and ran out into the garden.

‘Here you are, Irene – here's a nice turnip, too. That should be enough to take. Will you be able to carry this? It's rather heavy now.'

‘I'll be fine, Mum.'

‘Is Archie coming again soon, dear? I'm sure you two don't spend nearly enough time together?'

‘Well, Archie's busy, Mum. You know Dad's having trouble with all this circus business.'

‘Yes, dear. All the same, I know you love being together – maybe you should try to find the time.'

‘Maybe, Mum. I've got to go past the station – shall I look in and invite him for tea tomorrow?'

‘Why not, dear? That would be nice.'

‘Right. I'm going to be late, Mum. See you later.'

‘Be careful, Irene dear.'

Irene slipped her coat around her shoulders, kissed her mother and left for the church. Having dropped off the basket, she carried on to the police station and went inside. Ernest Penhaligon was at the desk.

‘Good morning, Miss Bartlett. Would you like to see your father?'

‘Well, just quickly, Ernie. Is Archie with him?'

‘Yes, I think so.'

Constable Penhaligon led Irene to Bartlett's office and knocked on the door. Boase opened it.

‘Irene! How nice to see you – what brings you here?'

‘Hello, Archie, hello, Dad.'

Bartlett stood up as his daughter entered the room.

‘Hello, Irene – is your mother all right?'

‘She's fine, Dad. I just came to ask Archie if he'd like to come for tea tomorrow. Archie?'

‘That'd be lovely, Irene. Thank you.'

‘Right, must dash. 'Bye, Archie. 'Bye, Dad.'

‘That girl wears me out sometimes, Boase – hope you're going to be able to keep up with her, my boy.'

‘I'm sure I'll manage, sir.'

Boase grinned widely as he thought how he couldn't wait to have Irene completely to himself – yes, he thought the world of her parents but this was one person he didn't feel like sharing.

‘Boase, call Penhaligon in here, will you?'

Boase went and fetched the constable and the three men sat in the office.

Bartlett drew out the empty gun box from his desk drawer. From another locked drawer he pulled the gun that had been used as evidence in the case against Edward James.

Boase was astonished to see the gun again.

‘Where did you get that from, sir?'

‘I took the precaution of requesting it from the property store in Bodmin to see if it fits in this box. If it doesn't, it isn't a twin.'

He laid the open box on the top of his desk and slowly tried to fit the gun inside. Boase and Penhaligon watched. The weapon dropped firmly into the padded aperture. Penhaligon jumped up.

‘Where did you find that, sir? I haven't seen one of these since I was a boy.'

‘We, or rather, Boase, found it under Clicker's caravan when the circus was leaving. I didn't want to say anything until I confirmed that this weapon came from this box. You were just telling us about these pairs of guns and, would you believe, this has turned up?'

Penhaligon picked up the box and ran his fingers over the gun.

‘So, do we know where the other one is, sir?'

‘No, Penhaligon, unfortunately we don't – could be anywhere but I'm more than a little worried what it might be used for next.'

Boase looked at Bartlett.

‘But … isn't this all over now, sir?'

‘You carry on, Penhaligon – thanks.'

Penhaligon left and Bartlett closed the gun box, leaving the gun inside.'

‘It's all over if the real killer has been brought to justice. But … well, if Greet has been too hasty, which isn't beyond the realms of possibility, then, well, I really don't know what to say or do.'

‘But it all fits though, sir – doesn't it?'

‘Greet thinks so.'

‘Well, maybe we just have to take it on the chin then.'

Bartlett sighed heavily and looked out of the window.

‘I've had enough of this place for today, Boase. I'm all in – think I'll cut along and take Topper out to Swanpool. Fancy coming along?'

‘No thanks, sir – I've still got quite a lot to get through here. The amount of paperwork is ridiculous. While I think of it – when are we getting our police uniforms back? We
are
police, after all.'

‘Well, Greet wants us to stay in plain clothes when we're on a big case – insists the uniform scares people off. As you say – we
are
police but ours is not to reason why. Goodnight, Boase. Don't work on too long.'

‘Goodnight, sir. See you in the morning.'

Bartlett felt relieved to be out of the station, more relieved to be away from Greet. The days seemed to be getting longer for him. Maybe Greet was right. Maybe he
was
getting too old. Well, things would all look a lot better when he saw his beloved Caroline – and Topper, of course. As Bartlett approached his house in Penmere Hill he could distinctly hear a dog barking frantically. As he walked on he realised it was Topper. He walked quicker, then ran through the gate and up the path. He fumbled for his keys as he could see Topper through the frosted glass, jumping up and down, still barking.'

‘I'm coming, Topper. It's OK, boy. It's me.'

The dog went quiet. As Bartlett turned the key he realised he couldn't push the door. He looked down and could see Caroline's foot against the skirting board.

‘Oh no! It's all right, Topper. Wait there.'

Bartlett ran down the lane at the end of the terrace and around to the back gate, running across the garden. He tried the scullery door. It was bolted. He pulled off his coat and wrapped it around his arm. Shielding his face, he broke the glass in the door and drew back the bolt. He ran through the house and to the front door where Caroline was slumped on the floor. He picked her up and listened for her breath. It was there but shallow.

‘Oh, Princess, oh no! What's happened? Please wake up.'

Caroline opened her eyes.

‘George. Is that you?'

‘Of course it's me, my beautiful Princess. Oh, you gave me the fright of my life. What happened? Where's Irene?'

‘I think I just fainted, George. Irene's gone to buy some meat for Topper – she should be back soon.'

‘Caroline, I can't keep leaving you alone like this.'

‘I'm not usually alone, George, dear. I've got Irene most of the time.'

‘Yes, but Irene will be married soon and it's unlikely that she'll still be living here then – then I won't be able to go to work and leave you. Do you feel able to get up now? I'll make you some tea.'

Caroline took Bartlett's hand and tried to stand up. Immediately she fell back down.

‘Princess – let me help you. Come on now.'

Bartlett bent down and gently lifted his wife up. He couldn't help noticing how small she felt in his arms. Slowly, and followed by Topper, he took her into the parlour and laid her carefully onto the couch.

‘Now, don't you go anywhere, I'll make us both a cuppa.'

‘I'm not going anywhere, George.'

Topper lay on the floor next to the couch. He stood up when Bartlett returned with a tray of tea and some biscuits.

‘Now, here's some tea and something sweet – I bet you've had nothing to eat today. Here's one for you, Topper, old man. Here you are now – that's for doing such good work and looking after your mother. So, Princess. Have you eaten today?'

‘I had some toast this morning.'

‘But that was hours and hours ago. Why didn't Irene make you some lunch?'

‘I wasn't really hungry, dear. I'm fine now, thank you. Thank you for looking after me.'

Caroline patted her husband's hand and he leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

‘Well, this isn't the first time you've been taken ill like this. I want you to see the doctor again.'

‘George, I only fainted.'

‘Well, that's as maybe, but what if you had banged your head when you fell? I dread to think what might have happened. I want you to see the doctor – and I won't take no for an answer.'

Chapter Fourteen

Dr Clemo sat behind the desk in his surgery. He looked at George and Caroline Bartlett.

‘Mrs Bartlett, as you are aware, I have just taken over the running of this surgery. I have looked at your medical notes and your history and, having examined you, I feel that the best thing that you could do for your health is to rest. Completely.'

‘But I
do
rest, Doctor. I have a nap every afternoon and my daughter does most things around the house.'

‘But it's not enough, Mrs Bartlett. In your frail condition I am going to recommend that you take at least two weeks off and away from the family home. It is entirely up to you of course whether you choose to take that advice. Mr Bartlett, it would be highly recommended that you went with your wife. I would prefer that she had someone to take care of her at all times.'

‘But, Doctor, my husband is a working man. He can't just take time off from that, he's very busy.'

‘As I said, Mrs Bartlett, that's your choice, but I am your doctor now and that is my professional opinion. Mr Bartlett, you would be wise to take my advice if you want your wife to enjoy good health. “Nervous exhaustion” is what we call it and, without rest and recuperation, things generally tend to become worse.'

Bartlett was listening intently. ‘I understand perfectly, Doctor. Thank you. I will see to it that my wife gets exactly everything she needs.'

Bartlett helped Caroline with her coat and, thanking Dr Clemo, the couple left the surgery.

‘George, dear. This really isn't necessary. We can't just go away. I'm perfectly all right at home.'

‘This is not your decision this time, Princess. If the doctor says you need rest away from here then that's what you shall have. I'll tell Greet that I need compassionate leave. He can go to the devil.'

‘George!'

‘I'm sorry, Princess … right, I want you to decide where you would like to go. You don't need to worry about work. I'll take you somewhere quiet and you can relax.'

‘But, George, what about Irene? We can't leave her.'

‘Oh yes we can. Irene is an independent young woman, soon to be married. She'll insist when she knows it's for the good of your health. And anyway, I'll get Boase to keep an eye on her. You don't need to worry about them.'

‘Well, if you're sure. I don't want to be a burden.'

‘And I don't want to see you making yourself ill. You gave me such a fright yesterday. Now, behave and do as you're told.'

Bartlett had little trouble in convincing Greet that he needed to be away, and no trouble at all having the same conversation with Boase.

‘Of course you must go, if that's what the doctor has recommended, sir. You don't need to worry about Irene – I can look in every evening, make sure she's safe and that the house is secure. Irene is the least of your worries, I promise.'