A Fool and His Money (17 page)

Penhaligon flicked speedily through the catalogue.

‘Wait – go back.'

Boase quickly leafed back through the pages. He snatched the catalogue from Penhaligon and looked hard at one picture in particular. The item that had caught his attention was a mahogany box. In a second picture the plush velvet interior was revealed showing two hand guns.

‘I'm such an idiot.'

Bartlett looked up.

‘What are you on about, Boase?'

‘Me. I'm an idiot. Look at this –
a pair of guns!
Why didn't I think about that? Thanks for the tea, Penhaligon. Here's your catalogue.'

‘Two guns – what of it?'

‘Well, sir, what if Edward James' gun was one of an identical pair? I never even considered that.'

‘Where would that leave us? I don't understand what you're getting at, Boase.'

‘What I'm getting at is this. What if the gun that killed Clicker was one of an identical pair? Someone else could have had the other of the pair with the same bullets. Someone else could have killed the old man but laid the blame on James – or suspicion automatically fell on him.'

‘I don't like this, Boase. I don't like what you're telling me. You're saying that this could be more proof that Edward James may not have killed the old man?'

‘Well, you've doubted the verdict at turns, sir – you've been unsure in your mind that Greet did the right thing. In fact … you're absolutely positive that James was innocent.'

‘Yes. Yes, I admit that. But this is a big thing you're saying, Boase. Anyway, how could you prove it now?'

‘There's only one way and that's to find the other gun.'

‘How do you plan on doing that? Even if there was an identical one, even if you found it – none of that proves James' innocence. And what good would it do anyway?'

‘It means that if we doubted it all before, yes, we can't bring Edward James back, but the killer is still at large … which we've said to each other before. That's a big worry, sir.'

‘Right – so who do you think this mystery person is then?'

‘I don't know at the moment, obviously, sir.'

‘You're going to rake up a lot of trouble with this.'

‘If you don't want to be involved, I can do it on my own.'

‘No. I can't give you the extra time to do that.'

‘Oh.'

‘And anyway, we're a team. So, where do we start?'

‘Are you convinced then, sir?'

‘I don't know what I am. But if we pursue this, we have to do it discreetly, and if we find nothing in fairly short order then we abandon the whole thing. Not a word to Greet about this either. Understood?'

‘Understood, sir. Thank you, sir.'

‘Don't thank me. I must be mad. If your theory is proved to be right, I don't know what we'll do about it.'

‘Cross that bridge when we come to it?'

‘Deal.'

Archie Boase walked along Hunter's Path. The moon was full and lit his way. He hadn't been able to sleep and, as he often did when this happened, had got out of bed, dressed, raided the pantry for some ‘eatables' as he called his snack foods and walked towards the sea front. He had already walked in the shadow of Pendennis Castle and passed the spot where Clicker had been found dead. For some reason, he now retraced his steps and visited that place again. Maybe there would be something else to see, something else to discover. He thought how stupid this was, here in the dark with only momentary and sporadic beams from the moon and with the death of Clicker weeks away and probably any evidence that might have been, gone with the time and the elements. In any case, they had searched and searched this site and found nothing of any use.

As Boase stooped low and examined the ground with the aid of his torch, he heard something move quite close to him. He stood still and listened. There it was again. He turned quickly and shone the torch into the hedge just in time to see a feral cat staring at him, its eyes sparkling like jewels in the narrow beam of light. Boase smiled to himself and pulled a pork pie from his pocket. As he began to eat, looking up at the moon, he was aware that he was still being watched. He regarded the cat. It stared back. Boase pulled a piece of meat from the pie and threw it in the cat's direction. The cat pushed it head through the brambles and gratefully took the morsel. It looked at Boase again, expectantly and Boase crumbled the last of the pie and lay it on the ground near to where the cat waited. He pushed the empty bag back into his pocket and walked away, looking back to see the cat taking the pie. He smiled and thought how he loved animals and nature and, well, this beautiful planet in general. Then he thought about the people that marred it with their nastiness and greed and cruelty. As he mused over this he reached the Falmouth Hotel and, slipping down a side road next to the imposing building, made his way back home.

‘I've just heard the circus is leaving tonight, Boase. If you've got anything you want to say to any of them you'd better do it today.'

‘Yes I have, sir. I've just got a couple of things to do and then I thought I'd go up there. Coming?'

‘I think I will – they've almost become a part of the furniture, they've been here so long. There are a couple of people I want to say goodbye to – particularly the Warner girls.'

‘I've got a feeling they won't want to say goodbye to us though, sir.'

‘You may be right – but I'll try. Anyway, look, Greet wants to see me – he's getting right on my nerves, he is, straight. I won't be long.'

True to his word, Bartlett wasn't very long. He came back into the office ten minutes later and sat behind his desk.

‘You all right, sir – what did he want?'

‘To tell me about Molly James. She's been hanged. This morning.'

Bartlett lit his pipe and looked out of the window onto the street below.

‘Well, we knew they'd do it, sir. There was no doubt about her at least, was there?'

‘No. No, there was no doubt. But even so, whether there is doubt or not, well …'

‘Say it, sir. Say what's on your mind.'

‘Well, it's not exactly civilised, is it? An eye for an eye. And then we're taught two wrongs don't make a right. I don't know, Boase – I'm getting too old for this caper. When I was young, I thought the death penalty was a good thing, they got what they deserved.'

‘And now?'

‘Now, I wonder how civilised we actually are. To murder someone legally – that's what Irene calls it, “legalised murder”.'

‘Do you think they'll ever stop doing it, sir?'

‘I don't know the answer to that, my boy. Not in my lifetime, I'm sure. Maybe one day they'll see sense and find a better way. Anyway, I can't sit here all day gossiping. What's done is done. Now, about this gun business – let's talk more about that, have a cup of tea and get up to see off the circus.'

Chapter Thirteen

At half past four, Bartlett and Boase arrived at the recreation ground. The caravans had been made ready and most were lined up in preparation to leave. Arthur Wayland was soothing his lions, who were pacing back and forth anxiously. Bartlett walked over to him.

‘Good evening, Arthur. All ready?'

‘Hello, Mr Bartlett, sir. Yes, yes, I think we're all ready to move off soon. The cats don't like travelling so much – I've just given them a little something to calm them down a bit.'

‘Where's your first stop?'

‘I'm not sure, Plymouth maybe.'

‘Well, I wish you a safe trip.'

‘Thanks, Mr Bartlett. This has all left a nasty taste in my mouth.'

‘And in mine, Arthur. Tell me – what's happening to Clicker's caravan?'

‘Well, I think it's been cleared out and we're just taking it along with us. Mr Martin will probably allocate it to someone else. It didn't belong to Clicker – it's circus property.'

‘I see. Do you know where the Warner girls are at the moment?'

‘I think they're still in their caravan packing.'

‘Thanks – I just want to nip over and see them, to say goodbye.'

‘Righto, Mr Bartlett, sir. Thanks for everything.'

‘All the best, Arthur.'

Bartlett and Boase walked across to the Warner caravan and Boase knocked at the door. Betty Warner opened it and stared hard at Boase.

‘Oh, it's you. What do you want?'

‘Well, Miss Warner, we came to say goodbye and to offer our very sincere condolences.'

Boase turned his hat over in his hands, expecting a stream of abuse to come hurtling his way, but it didn't. Betty sighed.

‘Do you want to come in for a moment?'

‘Yes, thank you.'

Boase followed by Bartlett walked up the small steps and entered the caravan. Joan Warner was packing a small bag on the kitchen table. She smiled at the two men. Betty indicated a bench seat under the window and Bartlett and Boase sat down.

‘I'm afraid I can't offer you any tea – the kettle has been packed.'

Bartlett loosened his collar.

‘That's quite all right – we can't stay. We just wanted to come and say sorry for all your trouble.'

‘That's kind of you – thank you. We miss Anne so terribly. Life just won't be the same again, Inspector Bartlett.'

Betty's voice cracked as she spoke.

‘Well, I'm very sorry we weren't able to prevent what happened to her.'

‘And we're sorry we blamed you. It wasn't your fault.'

‘I hope you can find some peace in your lives, both of you.'

‘Thanks. We're going to carry on here for the next few weeks then we may return home – maybe try to find a normal job. Anne hated doing this – if we had tried to get out before then she might still be here.'

‘Well, you can't really think like that – although I understand completely.'

Bartlett stood up.

‘We should be going. We just wanted to see you before you left.'

Betty offered her hand to Bartlett and then to Boase. Both shook it warmly. Joan smiled and carried on packing. Boase looked out of the small window.

‘Oh, looks like the first caravans are moving.'

Betty looked outside.

‘Yes, ours will be going soon. Thank you both for coming. It was really very kind of you.'

Bartlett and Boase stepped outside. Bartlett paused to light his pipe and Boase wandered over to watch the first few caravans being taken out to the road. He recognised Clicker's and watched the empty caravan being pushed along by two young men in order to hitch it to a trailer. As the caravan was pulled further across the grass, Boase stared hard. Something didn't look right. He stooped to the ground and stared again at the caravan from this angle. Suddenly he shouted out.

‘Hey, you! Stop – wait.'

Boase ran across to the two men with Clicker's caravan. Bartlett, astonished, followed him across the grass. He caught up with Boase at the caravan and watched as he crawled underneath. Pointing his pipe in Boase's direction, he addressed the two young men.

‘You be sure and hold that steady – I don't want that dropped on him, mind.'

The two men and Bartlett watched as Boase crawled back out from under the caravan clutching a wooden box. He stood up.

‘What's that, Boase?'

Boase looked at the two men who were staring at him and, grabbing Bartlett's sleeve, drew the older man away.

‘Well?'

‘I haven't opened it but … this looks remarkably like a gun box to me.'

‘What?'

Boase had taken his penknife from his pocket and was already prising open the box. He lifted the lid and showed the inside to Bartlett.

‘It's empty, sir.'

‘Well – what does that mean, Boase? Why was it under the caravan?'

‘I'm guessing it was hidden there or put there for safekeeping. Look inside, there should be two guns, look at the apertures – I'd say the gun we took from Edward James would fit nicely into here …'

‘And the other?'

‘Who knows? But, Penhaligon was right – these things often came in pairs and it looks like Clicker had something to do with them.'

‘Do you think he knew this was under his caravan?'

‘Well, that's the next thing – I don't know the answer to that.'

‘So, let me see if I'm getting this right, Boase. Edward James had a gun which incriminated him for the murder of Clicker …'

‘Well, amongst other evidence, yes.'

‘Right. Now you're telling me that there were two guns, both of them were originally in this case, and Edward James had one of them?'

‘Exactly so – that's my opinion, sir.'

‘So, who had the other one?'

‘Don't know.'

‘But whoever it was could have killed Clicker and incriminated James?'

‘That's possible – isn't it?'

‘I had a bad feeling about this, Boase. A bad feeling.'

‘But don't forget there was other evidence against James too, sir.'

‘Yes, but that wasn't exactly watertight, was it? I mean, a fake witness statement from a man who had an axe to grind and freely admitted he'd stop at nothing to get back at Edward James. That, along with some other bits of information which I now distrust highly doesn't make for a solid case. Greet! I despair of that man, Boase, he's been at the root of this all along. I said he was being too hasty but would he have it? No. He would not. Oh, dear me. What a terrible mess. Well, he's going to have to be told about this.'

‘You're not going to tell him really, are you, sir?'

‘I'll have to. Not only may he have had an innocent man put to death but it means someone else could be running around like a lunatic with this other gun.'

‘I suppose so, sir.'

Bartlett, with Boase still carrying the wooden box made their way back to the station to tell Greet what they had found.