Andrea Frazer - Holmes and Garden 01 - The Curious Case of the Black Swan Song (7 page)

‘Mrs Garden?’

‘Yes. How can I help you … is that Johnny I see coming up behind you? Have you abandoned your special weekend early, Sweetie Pie?’

Holmes looked at Garden in confusion only to find him shaking with what appeared to be fear. ‘Hello, Mummy,’ he almost whispered.

‘Aren’t you going to bring your new friend in and introduce us properly?’

‘Yes, Mummy,’ John H. murmured, in a small voice.

‘Do you mind if we have a quick chat together before we accept your kind invitation to come inside?’ asked Holmes, totally confused. Was this really the dragon that Garden had been terrified of facing?

‘Of course. I’ll just close the door over, and you can ring again when you’re ready.’

As the door swung to, Holmes rounded on his young friend and demanded to know what was going on. ‘She seems a perfectly attractive, fashionably dressed, well-mannered woman. Where did you get this ridiculous dragon thing from?’

‘She terrifies me! She seems so sweet, but I know behind her eyes lurks a cruel and merciless monster.’ Garden looked as if he would pass out if he didn’t sit down fairly soon.

‘Do you mind if we go in and I form my own opinion of her? It could all be a fantasy that you have worked up for yourself. She may feel perfectly normal towards you.’

‘Only if I can sit beside you and out of her reach. God only knows what she’ll do if she gets her hands on me.’

‘I’m ringing the doorbell again, and stop being a ninny and follow me in when she comes back. If you’re right about her, don’t fear that I won’t defend and rescue you, but I’m beginning to feel a bit of a chump. Have you ever felt like this before about anyone?’

‘Absolutely not.’

Mrs Garden re-opened the door and waved them inside with a perfectly charming smile. She then overtook them and preceded them down the hallway and into a prettily furnished sitting room. ‘Do take a seat and tell me what all this is about,’ she requested. ‘I don’t really know much about Johnny’s life, as he works during the day and I’m often out during the evening, making the most of the social whirl. We seem to have survived for years just leaving each other notes.’

Garden cringed into his armchair, trying to make himself invisible, while Holmes continued in his confused state of mind. ‘I must admit to a tad of incomprehension, but the reason I have accompanied your son on this visit is because he has something he wants to tell you, and he felt that he needed some back-up.’

‘Really? Do go on. I’m utterly in the dark.’

‘John H. wants to tell you something really important about himself, and about some changes he wants to make in his life to make it more the life he wants than the life he is expected to live,’ Holmes told her.

‘John H? Oh, I think I see. Sherlock Holmes and John H. Watson.’

‘Sherman Holmes, actually,’ admitted the older man with a little blush.

‘And I’ve never told Johnny how to live his life, but do go on.’

‘I think John H. himself ought to take over the story here, for it is his to tell, not mine.’

Garden, looking hopelessly at sea in this embarrassing
ménage à trois
, plucked up all his courage, screwed shut his eyes, and announced, ‘I’m a transvestite, Mummy. I like wearing women’s clothes.’

‘Thank God for that!’ exclaimed his mother unexpectedly. ‘I wondered who’d been through my wardrobe and make-up while I was out. I’d noticed it on several occasions, but couldn’t think of an explanation for it other than that I was losing my marbles. I never once thought of asking if it was you.’

‘I’m leaving work and going into partnership with my new friend here, Holmes. We’re going to take offices in Hamsley Black Cross and I’m going to work downstairs and live in the flat above. In the meantime, I’m going to move in with Holmes, and get out from under your feet.’ Garden winced and screwed his body into a tight ball as if he expected her to physically attack him.

Instead, she clasped her hands together in delight and exclaimed, ‘How marvellous for you. I know how you hate working in that office, and I’ve been convinced for years that it was time you found a place of your own and maybe someone to share your life with.’

‘I’m not gay, you know,’ Garden retorted. ‘It’s nothing like that.’

‘I never thought you were. And why all the highly coloured clothing?’

‘I just grew to love bright colours through trying on and wearing women’s clothes,’ Garden dismissed this last question as easily as swatting away a fly.

‘So, what is this business you’re going to run together?’

‘A private detective agency,’ Holmes answered, to give John H. a break.

‘God, how exciting!’

‘You knew I’d been through your things?’ asked Garden, suddenly cottoning on to something his mother had said a while ago.

‘I knew someone had been through them. I used to fantasise that you had a girlfriend who was very interested in fashion, so you used to show her my clothes. Now I know it was you, quite a few things make sense. You never made many friends, ever. I suppose it was because you felt different.’

‘That’s right, Mummy.’ Garden was five years old again.

‘I know a couple of clubs where cross-dressers hang out. Would you like me to give you the addresses?’ asked his mother unexpectedly.

Holmes accepted this kind offer, as the son of the house was just sitting with his mouth hanging open in disbelief. Mrs Garden suddenly piped up with, ‘Shall I make us all a nice cup of tea?’

‘That would be delightful, dear lady,’ Holmes accepted on both their behalves. There was still a lot to learn here, and he needed to know more.

Garden was, by now, completely sober from the shock of his mother’s easy-going reaction to what he had considered she would treat as dreadful news.

On their way back to the hotel, having arranged to pick up Garden’s possessions when they had finished their stay there, Holmes felt moved to make a comment, although it was by no means meant as a criticism. ‘This is the sort of thing that happens when people hardly see each other. Nobody can hear the tone of a note – or an e-mail, which you admit you’ve also used – and things are mistakenly assumed.

‘In your case, you concluded that your mother disapproved of you to the nth degree, and avoided her company even more, becoming more and more withdrawn with your messages. You do see that, don’t you?’

‘Sort of.’ Garden found it difficult to let go of the idea of his mother as a dragon.

‘You need to go over in your head what life has been like for the last few years, and then reassess how you may have over-reacted.’

‘’Spose so.’

‘Your mother must have been very upset when your father left, but she said she’d done her best to build a busy social life since you had reached your late teens, and she expected you to do the same until you decided to fly the nest. I think you’ve seriously misjudged her.’

‘Might have.’

‘Look, we’re going to need to stay on longer in the hotel – don’t worry about the cost, because I’ll pay. It’ll be your first experience of being awarded expenses on a case. While we’re still there, just think of the whole “mother” thing, while knowing that I’m always available to talk to if you need a sounding-board.’

‘Thanks.’ John H. seemed to be taking hard the elimination of his own personal demon, but he’d cope, given time.

‘I know!’ Holmes suddenly exclaimed. ‘Let’s take a run past my place so that you can see your room. A look at the old bachelor apartment might cheer you up.’

‘Excellent idea!’ Garden already had the bit between his teeth – anything to stop him thinking about Mummy.

Holmes pulled up in front of a row of older terraced properties, all of a good size for sub-division, and pointed at the black-painted iron railings outside his own building. ‘There she is. And look at the red of that front door. Had to pay an arm and a leg to get the colour that smooth and shiny, but it’s a real beacon, don’t yer think?’

‘I think it looks very business-like and welcoming, all at the same time,’ agreed Garden, and they exited the car and mounted the few steps to the front door of the ground floor accommodation.

‘The entrances to the other apartments are round the side, so it doesn’t give the impression of a house in multiple occupation, which was a feature I rather liked when I bought it.’

‘I can hardly wait to see inside,’ almost panted Garden with enthusiasm as his new friend inserted a key in the lock.

As the door swung open, Garden was immediately transported to a bygone age. In the black and white checkerboard-tiled hall floor stood a venerable old oak coat-stand with antlers for decoration, and a large mirror for checking one’s appearance before going out, or even answering the door. Below, an umbrella-and-stick stand stood for use by the respectable Edwardian gentleman. A couple of large prints on the wall were also contemporary with that age.

First, Holmes ushered him to a sitting-room that looked as if the great man himself had just popped out for an ounce of Bradley’s best shag. Radiators for central heating were cunningly disguised, and there was an open fireplace with tiles contemporary with when the house had been built. Large battered chesterfields adorned the room, and even a violin had been ‘carelessly’ discarded on an old Georgian table.

A quick view of the kitchen showed that what looked very much of its age also managed to hide modern conveniences which it would be nigh on impossible to live without today. ‘This is cunning stuff, you old fox,’ commented Garden with admiration.

‘Not too difficult, as I have sufficient funds, with only myself to take care of. And now, of course, nothing matters in the financial department. But I shall keep the old place on, of course. Not only is it convenient for our new business venture, but I’ve spent years getting the right address, and creating the interior. No, I’m quite happy here, and need nowhere else. Let me show you the facilities and your room. By the way, you’re not allergic to cats, are you?’

‘No. Why?’ Garden was curious.

‘Got myself a critter. It was a tiny, emaciated stray when I found it scavenging around the dustbins about three years ago, but we rather took to each other, and he’s been my constant companion ever since. Had a cat-flap put into the kitchen window above the work surface, and he comes and goes as he pleases. Name’s Colin. Dear old fellow.’ Holmes had come over quite sentimental at this speech, and it showed Garden another side of him.

‘I love cats, and shall look forward to meeting him. Where is he?’

‘If I know my old lad, the lady’s been in to feed him and he’ll be stretched out on my bed. We’ll go in there last, and I’ll introduce you to him.’

Garden’s room was light and airy, with a view of the back garden, the bathroom, again, in old-fashioned splendour of the latest manufacture. Finally it was time to meet the flat’s other occupant, and Garden followed its owner into the last room available for his view.

Ahead of him, he heard Holmes’ voice, no more than a coo, say, ‘Hello my fine fellow, Colin. How are you today my little precious?’ Garden rushed round the solid figure of his new landlord, already holding out a hand to stroke the dear little pussy cat, when a wild animal made a grab at his wrist with two enormous forepaws, and very sharp, needle-like teeth sunk themselves into the flesh of his hand, somehow avoiding the presence of the sticking plasters covering the previous attack by Sinatra.

He yelped with real pain, and Holmes immediately rushed to his aid. ‘I say, I’m so sorry, old chap. He’s not normally like that. You’ll have to excuse him; he’s had a very trying day today.’

Garden was about to agree, when he realised that Holmes was addressing the cat and not him at all. ‘But what about my wrist and hand?’ he whined, holding up the offending part of his body, which was beginning to drip with blood.

Turning his attention from soothing the cat, Holmes turned and asked in quite a cool voice, ‘Please don’t bleed on the bed covers. The bathroom is next door, if you wouldn’t mind going in there and cleaning yourself up. You startled him. That’s why he went for you. He’s very nervous, you know, having had to fend for himself when he was tiny. You’ll just have to get to know him and let him know you’re not a threat.’

‘I may not be, but he certainly is,’ replied Garden, but he said it inaudibly, for he felt he had found Holmes’ Achilles’ heel. He was totally besotted by this huge grey and white tabby, and could see no wrong in him. With any luck, though, he would not have to stay here long, and would soon be settled in his own little flat over the shop, as it were.

Chapter Eight
Still Saturday

When they got back to The Black Swan, Garden suitably plastered up again, this being his second animal-related mishap within two days, there was a helluva kerfuffle going on, and the place was swarming with policemen and men in white suits wearing masks. Pippa Bellamy was manning Reception, and Holmes headed straight for her. ‘What in the name of God is going on? I thought the police had just about finished what they needed to do.’

‘There’s been another death,’ she answered him, without a flicker of emotion.

‘Who this time?’

‘That awful woman Margery Maitland. Apparently she went off to fetch the tray of refreshments for her precious committee meeting, and never returned.’

‘How dreadful. Where was she found, and by whom?’

‘In the boot cupboard where I found your friend the other day, with the trolley still beside her.’

‘How had she been killed? I’m assuming it’s murder, and not natural causes, judging from the number of officials on the premises.’

‘She was garrotted with, they think, the electrical cord from one of the room’s lamps.’

‘Where has Inspector Streeter set up his interview centre?’

‘In the residents’ lounge, same as this morning. They’d only just finished getting through asking people about last night when they had to come back again. They only had a few hours away from here.’

‘How ghastly for you.’

‘Inconvenient, that’s all, but it’ll be good for business which, I would like to point out to you, is now my business, and I’m going to take it by the scruff of its neck and shake it until its teeth rattle. There are going to be some radical changes around here.’

That told Holmes, and he wandered away from the reception desk in the direction of the bar with a dazed Garden still in his wake. What a turn-up for the books this was, and how on earth did these two murders connect – if, indeed, they did? The web was considerably more tangled than it had seemed only twenty-four hours ago.

At least Streeter won’t be on our backs over this one, though, he thought. We’ve been out all afternoon and the evening up to now, and the murder has taken place without our presence, fortunately putting us in the clear. I’m sure he was suspicious of us before, with one of us witnessing the dive, and the other the landing.

Garden wandered straight up to the bar and absent-mindedly ordered a double gin and tonic. Holmes, on
his
heels now after his few moments of speculation, asked William Byrd to make that two, and to bring them over to them. He then wandered off to a table by the door, took off his jacket, put it on the back of the chair, and, when Garden reached the table, told him he was going outside for a quiet pipe.

He desperately needed thinking time about what had happened earlier. Dismissing murders from his mind for a moment, he wondered whether Garden out of his mind, or had he just manufactured a phobia about his mother? Was his mother putting on an act? Was it a good idea to go into business with him? These were the questions that he pondered as he smoked outside the rear of the establishment in the courtyard.

After about ten minutes, he knocked out his pipe and went back inside, where he found Garden sitting with an empty glass and a calmer expression on his face. ‘Drink up,’ he said to Holmes, as he retook his seat. ‘Do you know, I do believe you’re right. I think most of the fear of my mother was actually manufactured in my own mind, by the guilt I suppressed about going through her wardrobe and chest of drawers and wearing her make-up.

‘She does have a very busy social life with lots of friends, which she never had before Dad left. I think I’ve got this all wrong for years on end. Dad was the unsociable one, and all Mum wanted was to have a bit of fun. I do need to think this thing through a whole lot more, but I think a huge apology is in order, don’t you?’

‘I couldn’t agree more. Sleep on it, there’s a good chap. I’ll just get us another, and we can talk about the latest murder, if that would distract you until you’ve got some privacy.’

‘Good idea.’

When he got back to the table, he found that his companion had been joined by two of the women they had met the previous evening – the two slightly younger ones who didn’t look as if they had just been exhumed.

‘Good evening, ladies. I was so sorry to hear about your friend. It must have been awful when she just didn’t come back with the refreshments.’

‘Mabs Guest,’ said one, holding out her hand to be shaken.

‘Lebs Piper,’ said the other, doing likewise. ‘We meet again. It was a terrible shock for us all, especially after what happened only yesterday.’

‘At first we thought she’d nipped off to a quiet corner to stuff all the best cakes and biscuits,’ Mabs continued their story.

‘Then we really began to worry when she’d been gone over half an hour.’ Lebs took the verbal shot and returned it with complete accuracy and skill.

‘So we got Pippa and asked her if she could take a look for her, in case she’d tripped with the trolley and, perhaps, sprained an ankle, or something silly like that.’

It was like watching Wimbledon, the two men’s heads turning from one side to the other as the women took it in turns to elaborate on the story.

‘Well, you would go rushing off to dear Pippa, wouldn’t you? You do have a rather embarrassing soft spot for her. I say, get off to the bar and get us another one. It’s your turn, I believe,’ ordered Lebs in quite a harsh voice then, turning to her two gentlemen companions, she managed a small smile and said, ‘Just for the shock, you understand.’

Holmes certainly understood. These two had been in the bar for a while and had imbibed quite a lot of medicine for their condition and, if he and Garden were really lucky, there may be a few home truths to come out. Of one thing he was certain, however – these two were a couple, and one of them was jealous of the other’s ‘pash’ on Pippa Bellamy.

In Mabs’ absence, Lebs did become rather confidential, and leaned towards them so that she could confide something, but
sotto voce
. ‘That Margery Maitland was a snotty old bag, but I do know a secret that I haven’t even passed on to Mabs.’

Here she paused and looked from side to side, so exactly like a spy in a third-rate movie that Holmes almost laughed. Garden was still lost in thought. ‘My father was the local doctor – a very respected man in the town, and when Margery was very much younger and Father was still in his prime, she came to him because she had got herself into trouble.

‘There, I thought you’d be shocked. It was just before the Act was passed, and she wanted him to help her out – probably far too scared to go the back-street route, and I don’t blame her. The whole thing was ruthlessly suppressed, and she was said to be visiting a maiden aunt in London while she was having it done.

‘Father never told me this until he was virtually on his death bed, and I suppose the idea of patient confidentiality had flown out of the window in his desire to be able to leave behind him a few juicy snippets. You’ll never guess who the father was.’

‘We’re not from around here … Lebs,’ Holmes reminded her.

‘It was Berkeley Bellamy. She’d lost her cherry to the local Casanova, got herself in the club, and she’s hated him ever since. You must have noticed the hatchet-faced expression she wore when the guild committee was here. Well, that was only for him, and she never looked that grim anywhere else. What do you think of that, then?’

‘I’m shocked, dear lady, but I hardly see that it has anything to do with the case in hand, as Ms Maitland has also fallen victim to whoever is responsible for these two murders.’

Mabs returned at that point with a tray holding four glasses. ‘I thought I’d get us all another,’ she announced, passing the tray round so that everyone could help themselves.

‘How very kind of you, dear lady,’ Holmes thanked them, noticing the while that Garden was still off in another world. ‘Why don’t you go on up, old man. I’m not ready yet, but you’ve had a very trying day, and I think you’d be better off in your room, even if you’re not yet ready to go to sleep.’

‘Yes, Holmes. Goodnight all.’ Garden stood up like a zombie, drained his new glass and exited the bar, working so much on auto-pilot that he didn’t even consider the difficulties of locating his room, and consequently found it without any difficulty at all. He simply must have been trying too hard in the past.

He’d only been in there a couple of minutes, sitting on the bed still in a bit of a daze at the turn of events since visiting his old home, when there was a peremptory knock on the door, and he opened it to reveal a police presence. ‘Do you mind if we have a word with you?’ asked Inspector Streeter, his voice and face completely devoid of expression.

Back in the bar, the ladies noticed that it was past their bedtime, and collected their handbags before bidding Holmes goodnight. It was still not time for the bar to close, and Holmes surveyed who was still left in it.

At another table sat three figures, one woman and two men, two of whom he had met briefly the previous day, and Sherman bravely took up his glass and approached them, asking tentatively if he might join them, to which the woman nodded her head and directed him to an empty chair. ‘We met yesterday,’ she confirmed.

‘That’s right. So kind,’ he responded. ‘I dislike drinking alone.’

‘You’re welcome, but you don’t mind if we talk business, do you?’ asked the younger man.

‘And you don’t have any personal interest in this establishment?’ asked the other.

‘None whatsoever,’ replied Holmes with complete innocence. ‘I just feel like a bit of company, that’s all.’

Introductions allowed him to meet again Jane Harrison and Niles Carrington, who were fellow guests at the hotel, and Martin Pryke, who was a local solicitor. The three of them immediately restarted their interrupted discussion and Holmes simply leaned back and shamelessly listened.

After a while he began to pick up the threads of their conversation which confirmed what he had learnt the previous day: that Mr Carrington’s mother’s father was diddled by the Bellamy family over the purchase of the last little building of The Black Swan.

Jane Harrison, he knew, was also involved in a land dispute over ownership, with the late but not so much lamented Berkeley, and it was she who had hooked up with Carrington and called in the solicitor.

In the main, the Bellamy family had been known as ruthless businessmen, not caring who they tangled with or ruined in their dealings, and there were two people who wanted that, not only investigated, but sorted out, hopefully in their favour.

Holmes merely leaned back in his chair and sipped his drink, trying to look totally uninterested in their topic of conversation, while gleefully admitting that here was more grist to the mill.

The party broke up shortly after that, and Holmes went to find out what his new room number was. The ubiquitous Pippa was behind the reception desk, and handed him the keys to room forty-two, assuring him that this was, as his last one had been, a smoking room.

‘My dear, I haven’t yet had the opportunity to say how awful it must have been to find Ms Maitland like that. And, tell me, will your grandfather’s death ruin any plans you had in place for your future, if I may make so bold?’

‘My grandfather wanted me to go to college as nobody else in the family did, but I wanted to work towards running the hotel when he decided to retire, and he wasn’t getting any younger. To be quite honest, I couldn’t be arsed with the idea of another three years of classrooms and teachers, so I was trying to persuade him otherwise, but that doesn’t matter now. Somebody’s got to run this place, and as I believe I said to you before, I’m going to liven things up.’

 ‘Your work ethic does you credit, young lady,’ replied Holmes, before asking how he could find his new room.

Paying careful attention to her instructions, he had no difficulty in finding his way, and put himself to bed to ponder all that he had learnt that day.

After the departure of the constabulary, Garden lay flat on his back in bed, staring at a ceiling that he didn’t even acknowledge. The presence of alcohol in his system had made him more perceptive than usual, and it was with great confusion and honesty that he relived his life with his mother since he had left his teens, dismissing the visit of the policemen as unimportant, as he was devoid of any guilt in the matter.

Like countless children before him, he had not really known his mother at all, and had a totally biased and inaccurate impression of how she felt about him. He was willing to acknowledge, having seen her this afternoon chatting in a relaxed manner with Holmes, that she was no scaly monster, and he must have blown things out of all proportion.

How difficult it was to accept that one has been completely wrong over so many years, but he was getting to the stage where there was no doubt that this was what he had done. It would be a long time before he could look at their relationship rationally, but he would do his level best not to lose touch with her, and to approach their conversations with an open mind. He needed to grow up.

His last waking thought was, however, on a totally unrelated subject. This apartment even had gas lighting brackets, something he had only previously heard about from his mother about his great-grandmother’s house, which hadn’t been updated since the first war, let alone the second. There had been a gas poker in the fireplace, and he wondered if this was for show, too, or whether it was actually still in use. He must ask.