The Hangman's Row Enquiry (26 page)

Ivy shifted in her chair. “If you ask me,” she said, “Roy and me should stay here and keep our eyes open for what’s happening here. Miss Pinkney had a chat with me this morning, and she was full of a story going round village about Mr. Roussel. He’s been seen in the pub, apparently, and then out and about with young Budd. The gossips are having a fine time, as you can imagine.”

“Well I never,” said Deirdre, looking smug. “Amazing how people can change, isn’t it?”

“Yes, well,” Ivy said, frowning at her, “let’s just get back to how you’re going to start when you get to Oakbridge. Tomorrow, d’you think, Augustus?”

“Yes, certainly,” said Gus. “Which brings me to an announcement.” He smiled at Ivy, and reached across to pat her hand. “Much as I appreciate your offer to support me in my convalescence here,” he said, “I am so much better now, really restored, and have told Mrs. Spurling that I shall be going back home tomorrow. Then Katya can have her room back. Whippy will be so pleased to see me. I’ve missed her a lot, and I get the impression that Mrs. Spurling will not be too sorry to see me go!” he added, but did not elaborate.

Deirdre said that was fine, and she would pick him up tomorrow morning, take him and his things back to his cottage, and then they could set off for Oakbridge straightaway.

“Good,” said Ivy. “That’s that, then. Now, I must be going.”

“Where?” said Deirdre.

“To the shop,” Ivy said. “I don’t really need anything, but I make sure I have a short walk every day.”

Roy Goodman cleared his throat. He said sadly, “So no more pontoon, then, Gus?”

Ivy looked at him. All the light had gone out of his eyes, and she realised he saw himself back in the lounge, staring at the telly with the others, this wonderful interlude finished.

“
We
shall play pontoon together, you and me, and Gus will be visitor, as Katya says,” she said. “And you and I shall play cribbage, too. Must keep our wits about us, Roy,” she added, “for what might happen next.”

GUS LOOKED ABOUT him at his neat and tidy sitting room. “I didn’t leave it like this!” he said.

Dierdre shook her head. “No, you didn’t. But the fairies have been in and cleaned it up for you.”

“It was you, I suppose,” Gus said, and he leaned forward to give her a peck on the cheek. “Thanks a lot. Now, can I offer you a coffee before we start?”

Deirdre said she thought they should be off straightaway. “If we sit down now with coffee, you can bet someone will arrive or the telephone will ring, and we shall be delayed. Come on, lad. Best foot forward.”

Gus wondered whether to tell her about his scalded ankle, but it was much better today and he decided not. He had to reclaim his status as senior partner. A scalded ankle should be nothing to invincible Augustus, scourge of the criminal fraternity!

As they went back to the car, which Deirdre had parked outside the cottage, Gus turned and looked along the terrace. A curtain twitched in the window of his next-door neighbour, and he saw Miriam’s face peering out. On an impulse he waved, and to his amusement the face disappeared. Now she had seen he was back, he must expect a visit sooner or later.

Oakbridge was about thirty miles from Barrington, and in the big limousine they seemed to be there in no time. “I could get used to one of these,” Gus said to Deirdre. “It’s like riding in a feather bed.”

“That dates you,” said Deirdre. “How many feather beds have you slept in?”

“In this country, none,” he said severely, “but overseas, I have slept in every kind of bed you can imagine. Feathers, straw, rough blankets on concrete, you name it, I’ve slept in it or on it.”

Deirdre looked at him closely. “D’you know, Gus, I’m never really sure whether to believe you or not. What exactly was your work?” Gus gazed into the distance, as if to a far-off land where things were very different. “I’m afraid I am not able to say. You will just have to take me on trust, Deirdre. So let’s look for somewhere to park and get on with our search.”

“Duly snubbed! I get the message,” Deirdre said. “What are we searching for, by the way? And have you any idea where we should start?” They parked the car in the municipal park, and started walking into the town centre.

“Newspaper office, for a start,” said Gus. “Then the library, and then start accosting old ladies and gents in the street to see if any of them remember Caroline Bentall.”

“That newspaper closed down years ago,” Deirdre objected. “No point in going in the offices of the present
Blixton Advertiser
, is there?”

“Oh yes,” Gus said. “This is the old newspaper building, and there’ll be an archive of the old papers, as we know from the Internet. But they’ll have a lot more in a dusty back room than came up on your computer screen. Come on, girl, in we go.”

After half an hour trawling through well-organised old newspapers, they came across the one they’d already seen. “Let’s see the next week. There might be a follow-up story,” Deirdre suggested. They were rewarded by a couple of paragraphs on an inside page, stating that the missing Caroline Bentall had not been found, though the police were following up leads. The two children—again no names—were settling well with temporary foster parents in the town. There appeared to be no other relations who could look after the two girls. Police were appealing for anyone who had information to come forward.

“Right, well, let’s look at the next week,” said Deirdre. But unfortunately an explosion in a carpet factory on the edge of town, resulting in a huge fire that had darkened the sky, took up several pages, and the rest of the news was squeezed into a diminished space. There was nothing more about Caroline Bentall.

Deirdre looked at her watch. “Time to go, if we’re to look elsewhere,” she said. “It’s like the proverbial needle in the haystack in here.”

They walked down the High Street and followed the signs to the library. “I think we should say we’re looking for a long-lost relative,” Deirdre said. “They’ll probably be more helpful that way. Shall I say she was my aunt?”

Gus shook his head. “No, not worth risking ramifications,” he said. “Don’t forget the unfriendly character who knocked me on the head.”

“You mean you might be followed, bugged, all that?” Deirdre asked excitedly.

“Calm down, dear,” Gus said. No point in alarming her. She was good company, and he did not want her to duck out of their investigation in fright.

“A Mrs. Bentall? Caroline, did you say?” The girl behind the library desk was young, blond, and wore glasses that in no way detracted from the fact that she was very pretty. Gus took over. “It was quite a sensational case in the seventies, I believe,” he said. “We were interested in the history of Oakbridge, and came across this story. Curiosity was roused! You know how it is,” he added persuasively.

The girl was used to men chatting her up over the desk, and said shortly that curiosity killed the cat, but she would ask her colleague, who was of an age to remember.

While they were waiting, Gus and Deirdre wandered round, looking at the book displays. “Here, Gus, look at this,” Deirdre said suddenly. She pointed to a framed photograph on the wall. It was of a stalwart-looking man with a mayoral chain and stern expression. Underneath was a testimonial to his excellent work for the town during his term of office. His name was Geoffrey Harold Bentall.

“I see you’ve found Caroline’s father,” said a voice from behind them. A neat, grey-haired woman stood looking up at the photograph. “He was a popular man in the town. Responsible for all kinds of modern developments. Mind you, he was a builder himself, so some said he did pretty well out of all the new blocks of flats and terraces of small houses! Why are you interested in poor Caroline?”

Deirdre repeated Gus’s story that they were interested in the history of the town—such an interesting old place—and had come across the story of the missing mother of two. They were curious to know what had happened. “Just curiosity,” Deirdre said. “It must have been so sad for the two little girls.”

The librarian frowned. “So what are you going to do when you’ve found out?” she said. She could spot a reporter from one of the gossip rags from twenty paces.

Gus thought quickly, and said that actually he was a novelist, and was always interested in odd stories. Not that he ever used actual names or places, he assured her. His plots always started with a curious happening, or character, or sometimes from a place, as in his last book, which had been inspired by an old church in the middle of a field, he explained, warming to his invention.

“How interesting,” she said. “Well, if you like to come into my office, I could give you a few details.”

 

“I WONDER HOW they’re getting on,” Roy Goodman said to Ivy, as they sat over the cribbage board. He had accompanied her to the shop, sat at the same table at lunch, and had stayed close by for the rest of the day. Now they were in the lounge, and the light was fading from the sky.

“Back home, I should think,” said Ivy. She had known it was unlikely, but she had hoped one of them might have come in to report, or at least telephoned.

“And one for his knob,” she said, counting up her hand of cards.

“Ivy!” said Deirdre, coming in on a cloud of expensive perfume. “Did I hear aright?”

“Don’t be silly,” said Ivy. “You know perfectly well I was counting up points. Is Gus with you?” she added.

“No. Feeling tired, he said, after our long day. He’s gone home to bed. I put a hot water bottle in it, and he should be well away by now.”

“And I suppose he said you weren’t to tell us about your day until he could be here, too?”

Deirdre agreed. “Yep, he did say something like that. But I thought I’d just look in to say hello. How are you, Mr. Goodman?” she added. “Have you two been busy?”

Ivy raised her eyebrows. “Well, yes we have. But we can’t say much about it until Augustus is with us. We don’t really want to have to say everything twice, do we, Roy?”

“MY PLACE OR yours?” Gus had said lightly to Deirdre next morning. They were deciding where to meet Ivy. Deirdre had called in at Rose Budd’s for some free-range eggs, and nipped along to the end of the terrace to see how he was feeling after all yesterday’s excitement.

“I suppose we could go to Springfields as usual this afternoon. Still, there’s more room at Tawny Wings,” she answered. “Easy for Ivy to get to. She can just about manage to walk up, with her stick. She likes an outing.”

“What about Roy?” Gus said. He had really liked the old man, and had not missed the disappointed look on his face when he thought he would be left out from now on.

“What d’you think? No harm in him joining us, if he can make it up to my house.”

Gus said he thought the old boy would be quite an asset with all his local knowledge. “I’ll call for him,” he said. “They’ve probably got a wheelchair we can borrow.”

“Dare you show your face at Springfields detention centre?”

Gus laughed. “There you are then,” he said. “How could we leave out the old boy when that’s how he thinks of it?”

“Answer the question,” Deirdre said. “Dare you show your face to Mrs. Spurling after she practically evicted you?”

“I’ve dealt with worse than Mrs. S. in my time. Just watch me.”

Deirdre said she would look forward to that, and departed.

 

WHEN GUS CALLED Ivy to tell her he’d collect both of them to walk to Deirdre’s, he nervously asked if Mrs. S. would be on duty. She said he needn’t worry because Mrs. Spurling had a day off to go to a funeral. “It’ll be Miss Pinkney in charge,” she said, “and for some reason she seems to like you. Said it wasn’t the same without Mr. Halfhide keeping them all amused.”

Gus sighed dramatically. “I can’t help it, Ivy,” he said. “I have this effect on elderly spinsters.”

“Well, here’s one who can resist,” Ivy said tartly, and ended the call.