A Fool and His Money (20 page)

Bennett held out his hand and Boase shook it.

‘Archie Boase. Really, Dr Bennett, I can manage.'

A gust of wind blew still more leaves down from the tree and Boase twitched visibly at the thought of his find being discovered by anyone but him – he could never explain that. Luckily, Teddy's girl was impatient.

‘Teddy, come on, darling. The gentleman has told you he doesn't need help. Let's go.'

‘All right, Felicity, I'm coming.'

The doctor patted Boase on the back and walked off towards Felicity. He turned and waved and Boase waved back, relieved that the pair had gone. That could have been disastrous, he thought.

Boase looked up again. How could he get back into the tree? He could barely walk, so bad was the pain. He took a few paces towards the trunk and, scrabbling to get a hold with his fingers, put his left foot up, the bark crumbling beneath his shoe, then the right one. The pain cut him like a knife. He couldn't stop now. Not now he'd seen this – Bartlett was right and this had to be sorted out. He climbed a little higher, beads of sweat forming on his brow. He stopped to rest, hardly believing what had just happened – he hadn't fallen out of a tree since he was six. His breath returned, he climbed again and reached almost the same spot as before. The original branch lying on the ground beneath him, he reached for another. Now he could reach … he had to reach. He extended his arm. Another branch cracked. He stretched again and dragged the object towards himself. He heaved a sigh of relief. Slowly now he began the descent. As he reached the ground, he stumbled and fell down. He looked at his ankle. Yes, it was swollen – and very painful. Boase didn't know how he would make the walk back but, for now, he had to examine what he had just discovered.

Boase sat for ten minutes with the gun in his lap. It was attached to a sort of rubberised, stretchy band. Boase pulled the band. It was able to be extended a good few feet, he thought. He examined the gun. One bullet was missing. Boase now had an idea about this but didn't want to believe what he was thinking. He didn't want to imagine telling Bartlett what he thought. He didn't want to imagine Bartlett telling Greet what he thought.

He spent over an hour walking back to Melvill Road. He went inside and slowly climbed the stairs to his room. He took off his shoe and, rolling up his trouser leg, looked at his ankle. The swelling was really bad now – but hopefully just a sprain. As he sat wondering how to deal with this problem he heard a noise against the window, a volley of pebbles. He went over and looked down into the garden. It was Irene. He pulled up the window and leaned out.

‘Irene – what's up. Are you OK?'

‘I'm fine, Archie – I didn't know if you'd be in. I forgot that Dad left an address for you. He said you might need it if you wanted to contact him while he's away.'

‘I do need to contact him actually, Irene. I'll come down – I might be a while.'

Boase carefully negotiated the stairs and opened the front door. As he walked out into the garden, Irene ran to him.

‘Archie – what on earth has happened to you? Oh, you poor dear.'

‘Would you believe I fell out of a tree?'

‘Aren't you a bit old for climbing trees?'

‘Well, yes, but don't ask questions now, please, Irene. I need to get a message to your father. I need to write him a letter – will he get it tomorrow?'

‘Archie – if it's urgent, send him a telegram!'

‘Oh, yes, I hadn't thought of that.'

Irene smiled.

‘Shall I do it for you – you can't walk with your ankle so bad?'

‘If you like – but I have to be at work tomorrow. I'll just try and rest it; it's probably only a sprain. Look, all you need to do is send this message – that is, if you wouldn't mind.'

‘I offered, didn't I?'

Boase drew a piece of paper and a pencil from his pocket and wrote a short message on it. He gave it to Irene and she looked at it.

‘What's wrong, Archie? This says you've found something that Dad needs to know about. Is everything all right?'

‘Yes, don't worry, but I'll be very glad when your father returns home.'

‘Well, if I go now, I should just be in time to send this. Why don't you come over later and I'll make you some food? If you can walk, that is?'

‘Well, yes, that would be lovely. Thanks.'

‘Come at about seven then?'

‘Will do. Thanks, Irene. See you later.'

Irene left Boase and went to send the telegram.

Boase took remedial action with his injury and walked slowly to the Bartlett house; it felt painful as he walked and he began to limp more but nothing would keep him from his girl. Irene was waiting at the gate and she ran up the road to meet him. She slipped her arm through his.

‘Archie, that looks very bad. You should get someone at the hospital to look at it.'

‘Irene, please stop fussing.'

Irene looked up at him and he kissed her forehead. She squeezed his arm.

‘Promise me that if it gets any worse, you'll get someone to deal with it? You can't go to work like this, you can barely walk.'

‘Irene, please. I promise – and yes, I can. I'm sure it'll be better by then.'

The pair made their way up the path to the front door. Topper was waiting on the other side and barked excitedly as the pair entered the hall.

‘Topper, stop that. Archie has hurt himself and he doesn't want you making a racket. Go on. Go and lie in your bed.'

Irene put some cushions on a sofa in the parlour.

‘Sit down, Archie – here, let me help you.'

‘Irene, please, I'm not an invalid. I don't need to sit down – or cushions. I need this.'

Boase put his arms around Irene's waist and drew her to him. He kissed her on the cheek and rubbed the side of his face against her hair. He could smell lilacs.

‘Do you love me, Irene?'

‘Archie … of course I do. You know that.'

‘Then ditto.' He kissed her again.

The two of them sat in the parlour and ate some cold food. When they had eaten Boase put his arm around her.

‘We should think about where we're going to live when we're married. Got any thoughts?'

‘Well, I've thought about it quite a lot actually. I'm not sure we can afford our own place straight away. Mum and Dad …'

‘No, Irene. I think the world of your parents but I'm not living here with them. I want you all to myself.'

‘But it
would
be practical … maybe just for six months.'

‘No, Irene, and that's that. Anything else is up to you but I can't agree with that. We can afford somewhere small. Why don't you have a proper look over the next couple of weeks and then, nearer the time of the wedding, we'll know how much these things cost. And, about the wedding – we really should decide on a date.'

‘Archie – you're so bossy, you make me laugh. We haven't really had time to discuss it, you're always working and busy.'

‘Well, let's make time. You can have whatever you want. If I can afford it, it's yours.'

Irene put her arms around Boase's neck and kissed him.

‘Archie Boase, I really love you. I really, really do.'

‘Good. Well, on that note, I should be going. Now, have you locked up at the back? I'll just go and check, shall I?'

‘You've already checked twice, Archie. It's all locked up.'

‘I just worry about you, that's all. You're very precious to me.'

‘I'm fine. Go home. I've got Topper here with me; he'll take care of me.'

Archie left by the front door. He waited on the step.

‘Irene …'

‘Yes, I know … make sure I lock the door and draw the bolt across. Goodnight, Archie.'

‘Goodnight, Irene. Pleasant dreams.'

Boase walked into his office at eight o'clock the next morning wondering how long it would be before he heard from Bartlett in response to his telegram. As he shut the door behind him he noticed some papers scattered on Bartlett's desk. As he walked across to look at them, the door opened and Bartlett stood there watching.

‘Good morning, my boy. How are you?'

Boase spun round.

‘Well, I'll be … what on earth are you doing here, sir?'

‘Hmmm. I've had better welcomes, I can safely say. Aren't you pleased to have me back, then?'

‘Of course I am, sir. Did you get my telegram?'

‘Yes, got it last night. That's why I came back – and, well, Mrs Bartlett was becoming restless. There was no point in her being away to recover if all she wanted to do was to come home because she was worried about the house and Irene.'

‘The house was fine, sir. So was Irene.'

‘Well. I knew you'd be keeping an eye on things – I told her so. But when I got the telegram we both agreed to come home. I couldn't leave you to deal with something that you were worried about. Now, send for some tea and let's talk.'

Bartlett regarded Boase over the top of his glasses.

‘So what you're saying is that the old man killed himself? How? I don't understand. Explain your theory to me again, Boase.'

‘Well, let's go back to the beginning. We thought that Clicker was murdered. Did we even once consider that he had done this to himself?'

‘Why would we, Boase? But Greet is going to have a field day with this – he'll say we should have found the gun hanging in the tree.'

‘Well, yes, but we'll have to cross that bridge when we come to it. The fact is that the gun was concealed because the tree was in leaf and it was only now that it could be seen. You never really believed that Edward James was the killer anyway, did you, sir?'

‘I don't even know what I really thought, Boase. Tell me how this might have worked then. Greet is going to want to know all about this.'

‘OK – forget the reason for his actions then and think about the practicalities. Clicker must have climbed the tree …'

‘Stop there. He was an old man – could he have climbed that tree?'

‘Well, apparently he was quite agile for his age – throwing himself around the circus ring. By all accounts he was quite energetic. So, yes, it was perfectly possible that he could have climbed that tree.'

‘Go on, Boase.'

Bartlett was lighting his pipe and listening to the younger man. He didn't like what he was hearing. Not one bit.

‘Well, say he climbs up the tree. All he then has to do, having attached the gun to the band, is to hitch it around the branch and climb back down holding it. Then, he puts the gun to his head, pulls the trigger and, as he falls, the guns is released from his grip and springs back on the band and disappears into the tree – completely concealed in the leaves. You've got to admit, sir, that's a strange sort of genius.'

‘So, now you need to explain why he would have done such a thing. And I will need to put that theory to Greet.'

‘Well – go back to the beginning, sir … Molly was Clicker's daughter. Her mother, Margaret Field, had disappeared when she was pregnant with Molly, leaving Clicker bereft. She returned as Molly James and gave the impression that there was some hope that Clicker would see Margaret again – and that she was in a sanatorium in Switzerland, when in fact she had been dead for several years. Molly also gave Clicker the impression that there could be reconciliation if her mother could get well again – but that was going to cost money, money that the Jameses didn't have. So Clicker was paying rather large sums of money in the hope that Margaret would indeed get well and he would see her. But he must have smelled a rat whenever he mentioned travelling to Switzerland and Molly stopped him with some lame excuse every time.'

‘Well, yes, you would think so – but she was his daughter and he loved her. Maybe he was afraid to upset the apple-cart.'

‘Maybe so. Anyway, when Anne Warner discovered that Margaret Field was dead and that Clicker was being taken for a ride, she felt that she had to tell him – those two were very good friends, don't forget; they looked after one another. I think that Clicker may have thought there was nothing left for him – the love of his life was dead, and his own flesh and blood had been deceiving him.'

‘Do you think that would be enough to tip him over the edge?'

‘It's not impossible, is it?'

‘I suppose not.'

‘Well, then Molly found out that Anne had told Clicker about the con and killed her in revenge because she had dried up the money. That's one murder we were absolutely convinced of.'

‘Well, what you say is not completely out of the way, I suppose. So, what do we do now? Greet has to know about this gun – and where you found it. We can't keep this from him – it's evidence.'

‘Well, we'll have to go up and tell him straight away. Now.'

‘He won't be in yet, I shouldn't think. You're right. We need to tell him what we've … what you've discovered. Then it's over to him. If he wasn't so anxious to interfere in the beginning we wouldn't be in this mess, Boase.

At half past ten, Bartlett and Boase returned to their shared office and sat down in their chairs. Bartlett fiddled with a pen on his desk. Boase repeatedly slid his top drawer open and closed. Open and closed.

‘I cannot believe the blasted cheek of that man, Boase. I've had it with him. I have. How on
earth
does he think that this is my fault? Tell me how he could even think that? You know we got straight on with the investigation and then, and then … when it wasn't happening quickly enough, he trampled on through with no regard for any of our previous efforts. He messed up the whole thing and now he's trying to disclaim responsibility. Well, I'm not taking that from him. No, I am not.'

‘Well, sir, what can you do?'

‘I'm going to go above him. I'm going to put in a complaint about him. He's severely lacking. He has no regard for police procedure. That man has been nothing but trouble since he came here. I've had enough, Boase. I either retire now, and let me tell you, that is very tempting at the moment but … but that's what he wants. Yes, mark my words, he's doing this because he's not only a useless member of the force, he's also trying to get rid of me. He's been angling to push me out for a long time now. Well, actually – I don't feel inclined to give in to him. I'm taking this further, Boase. Yes. Wait and see – he's not going to get away with this.'