Dorothy explained to
anyone who wanted to hear that she had gone to complain that her advert for the
new sleuthing agency she was planning had been published an edition too early.
But the girl she had spoken to when she placed the article, Daphne, had
disappeared, according to her colleague.
Even worse for Dorothy
was the mystery attatched to receiving the recording before the Gazette was
distributed the previous Monday, four days too soon, so normal readers could
not have known about her proposed venture..
Dorothy was nevertheless
relieved that the girl from the Gazette office had reappeared, though now she
was suspected of killing the unnamed woman found in her flat. Gary was trying
not to put her on the list of suspects simply because she was silly and naïve,
but leaving her off would also be silly and naive. Anyone could commit murder
when driven to it.
So was the dead woman
an intruder? Had Daphne been back to her flat, found the woman there taking a
bath and held her under the water till she drowned? Could a woman do that? Was
it possible that Daphne had recognized the woman as a rival and killed her to
get rid of her?
***
Having hears Daphne’s
explanation of what had happened to her, Gary was now uneasy about Maureen, a
colleague in hell, if Daphne was anything to go by. What role had she played in
Daphne’s absence? Where was she now?
What Daphne had revealed
to Gary increased the enormity of what
was going on. There were far too many unanswered questions and too many lies
had already been told, though it was often hard to tell where the truth ended
and the lies began.
There was no doubt in
Gary’s mind that Ronnie Fish was in the thick of it if Daphne had been telling the
truth.
***
Dorothy’s new
neighbour, an unknown quantity thanks to him keeping himself to himself, was
possibly the real target for the memory stick. Dorothy had seen him come and
go, but he had never spoken to her, and
she was not interested in the rather unpleasand, ill-mannered person. He was
simply someone who had moved into the house, and that was the impression she
had given to Cleo.
Gary thought she had
been too busy birthing her Bureau and was guilty of neglecting to take an
interest in the new neighbour. She had usually known all about everyone in the
vicinity.
So he decided that Cleo
was the right person to talk to the neighbour, sidestepping Dorothy. If the
memory stick had been meant for the next door neighbour, it would clear the air
considerably, though the purpose of sending the man a recording was unknown. That
could easily be ascertained. Gary made enquiries at the town hall. He hoped
someone would be able to tell him something about the new resident. He did not
want Cleo to take any risk.
Since registration is
not customary in the UK, it really was a lucky break if you got any information
about anyone who did not have an entry in a police file somewhere. But he did
find out that Dr Gibbons, a psychologist with a keen interest in paranormal
phenomena and had already been to the Town Hall to find out about any paranormal
goings on in the area as well as offering his freelance services to anyone with
a psychological problem they preferred to place in the hands of a discrete
medic (himself). Rumour had it that he was a cousin of the late Mr Barker and
had kept away because he disliked Jane Barker, especially when she was widowed
and might see him as a candidate for companionship. Then Jane had died in
peculiar circumstances and Dr Gibbons had suddenly become the sole heir. That
was a good reason to hand him over to Cleo.
“Sometimes gossip is
useful,” Gary told her on the phone. “I’ve been asking a few questions and those
receptionists at the Town Hall couldn’t wait to tell me all about this new
version of Sigmund Freud.”
“Awesome!” said Cleo. “I
can’t wait.”
***
Gary had missed lunch
and a siesta thanks to Daphne’s reappearance and he could not face any more
interrogations that day, especially after his short but useful visit to the
Town Hall. Jet Black could wait. He was under suspicion and holding him was
therefore justified. Greg could take him a couple of magazines and inform him
that he would stay overnight. Greg could also conduct a formal questioning of
Ronnie Fish in his office. He could mention an abuse suspicion and see what
happened. Sometimes a suspect contributed involuntarily to the solving of a
case or at least a verification of other statements. The interview would be
filmed. Gary’s old office was better equipped than his new one and delegating
was a new, but self-satisfying experience.
Up to now Gary had not
done much delegating, he reflected, though being a superintendent meant he could
and should. At least that would be an agreeable part of being a superintendent.
Bureaucracy was not really his thing. He had not chosen to become a cop so that
he could sit at a desk all day.
There was no alternative
to Ronnie Fish being detained and a search of his current abode made. Gary
signed a search warrant. Chris would take a team and they would look for drugs
and anything else that seemed of interest, such as deals for services to be
rendered, although that kind of person did not usually keep records of such
deals, or else disguised them as something else. But Fish might be an
exception. The names of some of his clients might be written down somewhere
with phone numbers for good measure.
***
“Gibbons,” did you say?”
Cleo said when Gary told her about Dorothy’s new neighbour. “The name’s
familiar, Gary.”
“Probably a
coincidence,” said Gary.
“Or providence,” said
Cleo.
“Was he one of your paranormal
clients?”
“Sure. If it’s the
same guy, he’s about as nutty as a fruit-cake. He was ghost-hunting when I took
people round Monkton Priory.”
“Amazing how some
people get around.”
I came across a legend
about the Priory when I was working at the library. Oh boy, was it amazing how
the idea of hunting down the priory monks fascinated people.Of couuse, at that
time I did not know that I had inherited the priory thanks to my ancestor
losing it at cards.”
“You got around
yourself, Cleo. I wish I’d been a ghost hunter,” said Gary.
“The national trust was
not interested in the old ruins. The grounds are now common land. I was only
able to sell some of it as grazing land and donate the proceeds to keep St
Peter’s going, but no one would get planning permission to build on it, I’m
glad to say.”
“Spoken like a tourist
guide, my love. I knew all that.”
“So there could be a
ghost there, couldn’t there? There is, according to the legend.”
Did you come across
one?”
“Of course not.”
“I don’t suppose there
are many people with the name Gibbons, so there’s a good chance of it being
him, said Gary. “It occurs to me that paranormal gibberish took up quite a lot
of the recording time.”
“If the woman was
seeking help from Gibbons, what would that indicate?” said Cleo. “That she is a
patient?”
“I’s possible. Gibbons
might have asked her make a recording of her experiences and send it to him
ahead of her consultation.”
“I hope this is not
merely speculation,” said Cleo.
“So do I,” said
Gary. “Shall I make us more coffee?”
***
Gary had not been home
for more than an hour and after his chat with Cleo he was gratified that the
recording mystery might be on the way to being solved, though he would not
admit it to Dorothy if she was in an ‘I told you so’ mood when they next met. Not
that she would have anything to crow about. She had failed to spot Gibbons as a
possible suspicious character. Dr Gibbons had evidently escaped her interest. Wouldn’t
it teach Dorothy a lesson if the Hartley Agency solved the mystery rather than
a Price Bureau.?
***
The phone rang. It was
almost an anti-climax to hear from Greg that Ronnie Fish had been driven to HQ
on the pretext of identifying a corpse and had not kicked up a fuss.
“Good idea, that with
the corpse,” said Gary.
On reflection, Greg
had decided to show Fish the corpse of the woman found in Daphne’s flat before
they moved into the real reason he was at HQ. Would Gary like to join them?
Gary would if he could
organize the children since Cleo had had to go out. Grit stepped in immediately.
Gary’s belated lunch was heated up and devoured in passing and the siesta
postponed indefinitely. Although Grit and Roger were just back after sleepless
nights in NY jazz cellars and a quick look at NY, there was no question about
looking after the little ones for however long it took. Together with Toni and
Daisy and supported by Charlie and her cousin Lottie they would cope with
bedtime. Cleo had refused Gary’s invitation to go to HQ for the Ronnie Fish
interview. Her mission to talk to Gibbons was just as urgent, she had argued.,
much to his consternation.
“Save me for later,”
she had proposed.. “I’d rather sort out Dorothy’s neighbour. If he’s who I
think he is, I would solve Dorothy’s mystery without the auspices of the Price
Bureau. That recording sounded as if the speaker was in some sort of manic
depressive state. Ideal material for a psychiatrist actually, though Gibbons
says he is a psychologist, doesn’t he?”
***
Ronnie Fish fancied
himself as a ladies’ man. He was quite good looking, tall and slim. He wore an
expensive Saville Row suit with a fob watch in the breast pocket of the
waistcoat – old-fashioned, solid elegance. He wore a mysterious, exotic perfume
and had an unmistakeable air of affluence that was bound to charm girls wanting
to get on a career ladder leading to stage and screen, though the road there
might be strewn with casting couches. He would have passed for a film
impresario in London, so what was he dong in Middlethumpton? That was one good
reason for thinking he was a conman..
While Fish was on the
way to HQ in an unmarked car that the patrol team had used to avoid notice of
them being taken prematurely along the neat row of houses at the smart end of
Oxford Road, Chris and Ned were on their way to the villa in the unexceptional
white van they kept stocked with various items of forensic equipment.
***
A young man opened the
door of the Fish residence, a large villa standin alone and surrounded by well
cared-for gardens. It was the second time within a short period that the man
was obliged to do open the door to the police and he was annoyed and bothered.
Fish’s villa was
professionally interior decorated and the forensic investigators, accompanied
by a plain-clothes police escort that had been sent by Greg after Fish’s escort
had hinted that there might be trouble, were reluctantly allowed in only when
it was clear that the search warrant was genuine.
Chris and Ned were
efficient and experienced, but not prepared for what they found in addition to
a supply of ecstasy pills, cannabis and hard drugs. For in one of the rooms that
were furnished unmistakeably as erotic boudoirs, a sparsely dressed young woman
lay sprawled on a large, lace-canopied bed. Chris examined her. She was alive,
but in a deep drugged sleep. Ned rang for an ambulance. A second patrol car was
requested.
Chris rang Gary on his
cell phone from Fish’s house. Gary was now in the mortuary at HQ, where one of
the forensic assistants had opened a drawer to let Fish see its occupant. He
shook his head.
Chris thought the Fish
house was decadent, to put it mildly. Gary was not surprised that a cache of
drugs had been found and not really surprised that a comatose woman had turned
up since he was sure thanks to Daphne’s description of what had happened to her
that she had been drugged and then abused. Who was the woman at Fish’s house?
Was she being groomed for use in Fish’s scheme? The additional police support
should check on the other occupants in the house. Were there customers waiting
for some kind of erotic activity? They would be checked and brought the HQ to
answer questions immediately, otherwise very soon. They might want to bring in
the guy who had opened the door. In fact, it was an order.
Ronnie Fish swore
several times that he had not seen the dead woman from Daphne’s flat before. He
wanted to leave, and it was only then that he realised that the identification
had been a ruse to get him there without causing a fuss.
“We will record your
statements for future reference. I advise you not make it up as you go along,”
said Gary.
Gary instructed the
security guard to take him to what was now Mia’s office.
“While you are on the
way, you might remember who the unconscious young woman found in your house is,
Mr Fish.”
Mr Fish did not say
anything. Invited to make a statement about Daphne Lewis’s treatment at his
hands, he also declined. He was not going to say anything until his lawyer was
present. He would be taken to an arrest cell and stay there until further
notice. Fish laughed and phoned his lawyer on his cell phone.
“Good. Now you’ve done
that, you can hand your phone to security. They will look after it for you,
alongside anything else you happen to have brought along. Fish was searched. A passport,
a pocketknife, his phone, his wallet and a cigarette lighter were confiscated. His
shoes were also removed. The incident of suicide with razors tucked into a shoe
sole in that very arrest cell still haunted Gary. Fish’s lawyer would be there
first thing in the morning. He would like to have his shoes back before then.
Gary assured him that he could have them as soon as they had been examined. He
was tempted to tell him the story of that suicide, but refrained.
“I can’t wait to see
your face when you have to release me,” said Fish, sneering at Gary.
“I can’t wait to see
you in the dock,” replied Gary.
Without the presence
of his lawyer Fish would not say anything, so it was not long before he was
locked in his arrest cell for the night.
“Breakfast is on the
house,” a security guard told him.
***
“Fish is a nasty
character to be reckoned with,” remarked Gary.
“He’s also a bluffer,”
said Greg.
“We need the identity
of that unconscious woman, Greg.”
“I could go to the
hospital and get a photo of her.”
“Do that. I already
have a suspicion.”
“Are you going to tell
me?” said Greg.
“It’s a long shot, but
could the woman be Daphne’s colleague Maureen?”
“Why her?”
“Maureen was not in
the office this morning, Greg.”
“She would be on late
shift, surely, since Daphne was on late shift when she went missing.”
“But I don’t think we
should wait and see if she turns up. I believe she knew where Daphne was. She
wanted her out of the way. Daphne told me that, so it suited her that her
colleague was elsewhere. What if Maureen was also stage struck? Could she have
called Fish and told him where Daphne was going to be that night of the disco?
Was she a tout for Fish? He probably paid well.”
“We should find out
who the woman is before we attempt to link up any of these characters, don’t
you think?”
“That’s the practical
way of doing things. Sorry. I was speculating,” said Gary.
“You learnt that from
the Hartley Agency, and it often worked,” said Greg.
“Don’t mention
Dorothy, please.”
“A state-of-the-art
lady, and a cute one,” said Greg.
Gary did not comment
on that.
“Let’s call it a day
here,” he said. “Send me the photo and if you can find out who the woman is,
let me know, otherwise we’ll get Daphne to look at the image tomorrow morning
and get the search engines searching. Cleo is hunting down Dorothy’s new
neighbour and hopes to find out if he planted or was expecting the recording
that started all this business.”
“Dorothy can’t have
expected anything like this.”
“No, but I have a
sneaking feeling that she’s enjoying it,” said Gary. “There may be news about
Dorothy’s neighbour. I’ll let you know.”
“It really would be
nice to clear up some of the open questions.”
“Spoken from the
heart, Greg.”
***
It was past suppertime
when Gary got home. Most of the children were in bed asleep.
“I feel like I have a
job on an oil rig miles from anywhere,” he said, flopping down on the sofa
without even bothering to light the log fire.
“Daphne again?” said Cleo,
fetching large beakers of coffee and lighting the kindling in the grate. “It’s
not often that you forget to light the fire.”
“When did you get in,
Miss Marple?”
“A few minutes ago, M.
Maigret.”
“Anything to report?”
“Plenty.”
“Is the guy next door
to Dorothy the same Gibbons as the guy you took round the Priory?”
“He is. He inherited
the house as the only relative left of Jim Barker’s family. The house went to
her first, of course, and Dr Gibbons was the next in line.”
“And Dorothy did not
know?”
“I don’t suppose he
wanted her to,” said Cleo. “She does tend to be a nosey parker if given the chance.”
“That’s what it takes
to be a talented sleuth,” said Gary.
“Dr Gibbons is apparently
a psychiatrist rather than a psychologist. He used dream narratives to get
people talking. He doesn’t interpret dreams. He identified the patient as Amy
Campton, a neurotic female with a persecution complex.”
“So the fortune-teller
would not have role in her daily life,” said Gary.
“Far from it. Dr
Gibbons thinks he is the fortune-teller.”
“That does not put him
in a good light.”
“Amy Campton thinks he
can give her the answers to her lifeproblems.”
“So he does interpret
dreams,” said Gary.
“He also said that you
should not believe everything Amy related. Bipolar patients often imagine
things.”
“But at least we know
who the woman is,” said Gary. “The memory stick was definitely meant for him,
wasn’t it?”
“I’m surprised that
Dorothy did not run straight to him with that stick,” said Cleo.
“I don’t think she knows
much about the guy in Janes’s house, and she’s been busy getting her act
together. Presumably for weeks,” said Gary. “It feels like a month, but it’s
only four days since the stick was posted and she came to us for advice.”
“Dorothy was angry
with the Gazette and scared. She wanted you to protect her.”
“That’s reading
between the lines, my love. You forgot the sugar.”
“I’ll get you
sweeteners tomorrow. You’re starting to look round, Sweetheart.”
“I’ll ignore that. I
don’t suppose you talked to Dorothy before coming home, did you?”
“No. I’ll phone her
now.”
“I’m in bed with a
dreaded lurgy,” said Gary, jumping off the sofa and making for the bedroom.”
“No you aren’t, Gary.
You used to love Dorothy. What’s happened?”
“I grew up.”
***
Dorothy was relieved
to hear that the memory stick mystery had been solved, though she would have
preferred to solve it herself and was peeved that Cleo hadn’t asked her to go
with her to interview Gibbons. When Cleo went to tell Gary what Dorothy had
said, she found him in their king-size bed with Nella and Bella one on each
side. Cleo accused him of hiding from Dorothy. He agreed.
Cleo said had told
Dorothy that she could not work for the Hartley Agency if she had her own rival
sleuthing business.
“Not quite,” Dorothy
had said. “Vera doesn’t think it’s a good idea any more, especially if we get
anonymous postings. The next one might be a letter-bomb.”
So that was the status
quo at the Price Bureau.
“A non-starter, if
ever there was,” said Gary. “I hope you did not invite her to a late supper.”
“I did not.”
“I’ll get up them. I
think your smallest babies are thirsty.”
“I’ll feed them now.
Can you look in on the others?”
***
Dorothy would not wait
to be invited to Cleo’s cottage, she decided. An hour after the phone call with
Cleo, Dorothy had wound herself up into such a fury that she decided to have it
out with her, so she marched down the road feeling sad as well as irate. Didn’t
Cleo want her in her agency?
Since Cleo was feeding
her twins, it was Gary who answered the door.
“Why Dorothy, I wasn’t
expecting you,” he said. “Do you know how late it is?”
“It’s never too late
to clear things up,” said Dorothy.
“What things?”
“The memory stick and
me being fired.”
“Who fired you?”
“Cleo, of course.”
“I can’t believe it,
but if she did, you should not be surprised. You can’t work for two detective agencies
at the same time.”
“But the Price Bureau
is not going to happen,” said Dorothy. “Vera has let me down. I feel betrayed.”
“I can’t help you
there, Dorothy. It’s not my business.”
“Then I’ll go home.”
“If you wait until
Cleo has fed the twins, you can talk to her about it.”
“I don’t think there’s
any more to say. She did not even call on me after going next door.”
“She had to get back
to the babies,” said Gary, covering for Cleo.
“Oh,” said Dorothy.
“Would you like a
coffee?” Gary said. He could see that Dorothy was in a state. Her whole world
had turned against her.
“Yes please,” said
Dorothy.
“Would you like to
tell me about the problem with Vera?”
“Not really. She just
thought better of it.”
“Well, it was a rather
hair-brained scheme, wasn’t it?”
“Is that what Cleo
told you?”
“No. I’m a big boy
now. I have my own opinions.”
***
Fortunately for Gary,
he did not have to listen to Dorothy’s report of the spat with Vera although he
had asked her to tell him. Cleo had finished feeding and cleaning up the babies
and was kitchen-bound, hoping for some supper.
“You didn’t have to
fire me,” said Dorothy. “I would have left anyway. You weren’t giving me
anything to do, Cleo.”
“The agency was closed
while I had my twins, Dorothy. You aren’t being fair and I have not fired you.”
“I thought we were
friends.”
“We are, but you have
to admit that the Price Bureau was not a good idea.”
“You went behind my
back and solved the memory stick mystery. That wasn’t fair, Cleo.”
“Just let me
interrupt, Ladies,” said Gary. “I am responsible.”
“How?”
“I found out who had
bought Jane Barker’s house, Dorothy. You had not considered the possibility
that the stick was not meant for you because you were stuck with the idea that
someone had in for you and before that, you had hardly taken any notice of your
new neighbour.”
Dorothy swallowed
twice.
“What is more, even if
you were still part of Cleo’s agency, she does not have to report to you, a
junior partner.”
“But…”
“We were under the
impression that your new enterprise was about to be up and running despite my
advice, and it was necessary to follow up my information on the owner of Jane’s
house immediately, wasn’t it?”
Dorothy nodded.
“So that’s what Cleo
did.”
“Well, I…”
“Want to apologize,
Dorothy?” said Gary.
“Well, yes, I suppose
I do.”
“So let’s just be glad
you are not in danger of your life, shall we?”
“I suppose so.”
“And you will now go
home and think about how much you have hurt Cleo.”
Dorothy went home
severely chastened. There was nothing left of the wonderful friendship she had
had with Cleo and Gary.
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