Constable Across the Moors (14 page)

Two pairs of blue eyes followed his progress and I could see the signs of unrequited love. I wondered what problems it would bring to him.

But I was here to talk about security.

After my scones and coffee, I broached the subject of the paintings and the ladies agreed they were valuable, although neither had any idea of the total worth of their treasures. Neither had I, for I lay no claim to knowledge of antiques or works of art, but when I saw the array of Reynoldses and other valuables, I knew that this house was a veritable museum, a treasure trove of remarkable interest.

Following my visit to the downstairs rooms, they showed me around the upper floor, including all six bedrooms and the attic of their rambling old home. Every room was richly endowed with solid antique furniture and I noticed lots of pictures, large and small, but all of considerable age.

All about the house was the smell of age and dampness, except in Jack’s bedroom where I discerned a different aroma. I could not identify the scent, but it was not pipe smoke and not old socks or sweaty feet. I dismissed the question as I continued to survey the house and its contents.

Downstairs, I told the curious pair that I intended to call in the Crime Prevention Officer from our Divisional
Headquarters
, and he would undertake a professional survey of the house, free of charge, with a view to recommending some form of protection. I also advised them to consult Norman Taylor with a possibility of taking out some insurance. While discussing the protection of their inheritance, I did worry somewhat about the
presence of Jack Holtby, for I knew nothing of his past or of his character.

My first impressions were that he was an average farm worker who would never appreciate the wealth of treasures around him, and I felt they were secure in his presence. He would not talk about them because he would not recognise them for what they were, but there is a breed of villain who preys on innocent or elderly people. These are like ravenous wolves, pitiless and cruel, for they rob their elders and their descendants of their rightful inheritance. It was such scoundrels from whom the Misses Kirby must be protected, and that was my duty.

I could not ignore the presence of their ‘latest man’ however, and resolved to keep a watchful eye upon him and his contacts. I’d check his background too. Meanwhile, the official wheels could be set in motion, and our Crime Prevention Officer would be told.

Some weeks later, the survey was complete, and a
recommended
burglar alarm company arrived to fit their clever device. I was not there during these operations, although we did note the car numbers and the names of the workmen just in case they turned out to be less than honest. However, the deed was completed and the Misses Kirby were fully equipped with a modern and highly sophisticated burglar alarm.

To set it, there was a box of tricks on the wall at the foot of the stairs, and after locking the doors and windows, the box itself was activated by locking it with a key. That key was then removed and stored in a secure place. Upon leaving the house, the key was also removed and the outer door was locked, thus sealing the system. After this, any severance of a contact, either by opening a door or window, would cause loud bells to ring at the farm and a little light to flash in our Divisional
Headquarters
. At last, the Kirby treasures were in care.

The system was fine, moderately expensive and highly efficient. But it lacked one important factor. It did not contain the brain of a woman, and furthermore, it could not cope with the female habit of losing keys. Women the world over lock themselves out of houses, offices and cars, and it means that a burglar alarm in any female environment is something of a hazard.

Frances and Rene were no exception. They lost innumerable keys of their alarm system. The angry machine rang bells across the moors and flashed lights in the police station; it summoned countless frustrated technicians to the remote farm to re-set the device and to supply them with a new key. In time, everyone involved – police, crime prevention officers, the insurance and the burglar alarm company – lost count of the number of times they attended these false alarms and re-set the system. The ladies could not learn to safeguard the precious and
all-important
key.

Eventually, the insurance company put its foot down.
Norman
had the job of telling the ladies that his company would not accept further liability for the contents of their home because the ladies themselves were a bigger risk. Norman talked to me about it, and I talked to our Crime Prevention Officer; together we studied a long missive from the insurance company.

The problem was all to do with lost keys. The insurance company was not at all happy about the security of the key for the lock which was the nerve centre for the entire system. The company was even more upset when one of their inspectors called unexpectedly and found the key left in the lock, with a long piece of string reaching from the key to a nail in the wall. It seemed they’d decided to keep the key there, where everyone could use it and from where it would never stray. If it remained on that piece of string, it would never get lost.

The insurance man was not at all happy with that system. There were long discussions with the ladies, and then Frances chanced to mention their safes. It seemed each lady had a safe built into the wall of her bedroom, tucked well away behind the bed. These contained personal cash and private things, and were used for their trophies, for cups and medals won at agricultural shows. Each safe was operated by a numerical code known only to the owner. If each kept a key for the burglar alarm in her own safe, the problem might be solved. It would mean the introduction of a new rule for the company, i.e. two keys for this one alarm, but by issuing each with a key, the system might function correctly.

Norman put this to his company and they agreed. After inspecting each safe and studying their individual security
systems, which were designed to prevent one another from snooping, the insurance company agreed to continue the ladies on risk. I was happy too, and for a while there were no more ringing bells, flashing lights and emergency calls from Slape Wath Farm. Each lady kept her personal key secure in her own safe and they learned to use these to set the alarm each night upon retiring, and each time they vacated the farm.

Peace reigned, and the treasures were protected.

It would be several weeks later when I received a sad telephone call from Frances Kirby. She rang about ten thirty one Friday morning, and just caught me before I vanished into my hilly beat.

“Mr Rhea,” she burbled into the telephone. “You’ve got to come, it’s Jack.”

“Jack?” For a moment I’d forgotten about their live-in handyman.

“You know, Jack that works for us.”

“Oh, that Jack! What’s happened?”

For one horrible moment, I thought he must have absconded with their best silver, antiques and money, but she was
speaking
gently and with some feeling. Her voice was about to crack and I wondered what awful thing had happened to Jack. I thought of accidents, sudden death, electrocution, drowning, maiming by cows … all sorts of ghastly occurrences flashed through my mind.

“He’s gone, Mr Rhea. He’s gone and left us. It’s our Rene’s fault, the silly bitch … she won’t leave him alone. I’ve told her and told her again and again, but she’s been chasing him like a love-sick virgin …”

She prattled on about Jack’s absence and I found myself suppressing a smile. I remembered what Joe Steel had told me about them driving away their menfolk and guessed this was just another in a long line of absconding lovers. Jack must have grown heartily sick of coping with two of them.

“How old is he?” I interrupted her chatter.

“Fifty-two,” she said without hesitating.

“Then there’s nothing I can do,” I began to tell her. “If a grown man wishes to leave home or his place of employment, it is not a matter for the police …”

“Ah’m worried,” she cried. “Mr Rhea, Ah’m so worried. It’s not a bit like him, not like him at all, and Ah think he might have come to some harm. Oh dear, Ah wish that silly sister o’ mine would lay off … he’ll never marry her, Ah could see it in his eyes. He wasn’t in love with her, Mr Rhea, not Jack. It was me, really, thoo knows, Ah was t’one he favoured …”

“Look, Cis,” I said. “Shall I come up to see you? Maybe he’s just gone off for the day?”

“No, he’s gone for ever. He’s locked his bedroom door and bolted. Gone.”

It happened that I was about due to visit Slape Wath Farm for a routine stock check and I decided to pop in today. After all, I could make a cursory search of the premises, just in case poor old Jack had got his head fast in some machinery or fallen into a midden. It would show interest from me.

I shouted through to Mary that I had changed my intended destination and would not be back for lunch. One of the farmers in those moors would feed me before nightfall, I was sure. I was just heading out of my little office when the telephone rang again. I was tempted to ignore it, but realised it might be something more urgent than Frances’s missing man.

“Aidensfield Police, P.C. Rhea,” I announced myself.

“Mr Rhea? This is Rene Kirby. You must come at once.”

“What’s the matter, Rene?” I wondered if Cis had now fallen into the midden or got her head fast in a pig trough.

“Jack,” she said with tears in her voice, “He’s gone, Mr Rhea.”

“Yes, I know. Frances rang a few minutes ago. I’m coming up to see if I can help.”

“Rang? She rang? The scheming bitch! She’s driven him away, Mr Rhea, so she has. All that courting and
lovey-dovey
slop she’s been dishing out to him. She’s after him, Mr Rhea, she won’t leave the fellow alone, poor sod. Double rations of apple pie, more custard than a fellow can cope with, best crockery at tea-time – name it, she’s done it for him.”

“Has she?” I was astounded by this revelation. What more could a fellow want if he was getting double rations of custard?

The more she ranted about her sister, the more I appreciated the words of our village shopkeeper. Now I knew what life was all about at Slape Wath Farm.

I had no idea how many men the quaint pair had driven away, but I did appreciate that Jack was just one of a long, long line. I would go to the farm to express my sorrow and show interest in their dilemma, then maybe if I talked about agricultural shows and prize-winning pigs or sheep, I’d get them to forget the departed Jack.

But it didn’t work. When I arrived at the farm, I found them both in the kitchen, sitting at opposite sides of the table with a pot of tea between them and three mugs awaiting. Big Cis saw me first and came to greet me, her eyes red with crying. Rene also sported two red-rimmed eyes, and sniffed into a lace handkerchief.

“Mr Rhea, oh, Mr Rhea, Ah’m so glad you’ve come …”

Rene added, “because we’ve not seen him for hours and hours and there’s been no call, no letter … and it’s not like Jack …”

“He would have said something, you know, left a note for me …”

“For me, you silly bitch, for me.”

“Ladies, ladies!” I cried, settling down at the table. “All this bickering will do no good. Now you both love him?”

I was relying on Joe Steel’s past assessment to deal with this situation.

There was a long silence, then Cis nodded.

“Yes, he was such a nice, kind man …”

“And so good to the animals, Mr Rhea. The way he handled a …”

“Pig or a sheep was magic to watch. Superb, he was, Mr Rhea, a real man …”

“And a friend, Mr Rhea, a real friend.”

I listened to this double-sided conversation, and remembered what Frances had said when ringing me this morning.

“Frances,” I said, “you told me he’d locked his bedroom door and bolted?”

She nodded fiercely.

“She’s driven him away, Mr Rhea,” butted in Rene. “He’s
cleared off, never to return. Every time Ah find myself a nice man-friend, she gets her claws into him and frightens him off …”

“She frightens him off, not me. Throwing herself at him like that … baking cakes for his birthday, I ask you! And sending Valentine cards!”

“Hang on, hang on!” I shouted above their banter. “Look,” I raised my voice and caught their attention, “did you set your burglar alarm last night?”

My change of tactic surprised them and both regarded me with puzzled expressions.

“Burglar alarm, Mr Rhea?” asked Rene.

“You mean our alarm, Mr Rhea?” followed Cis.

By this time, I was heading towards the control-box of their system and saw the familiar key in the lock, with a length of string dangling from it. A cotton reel hung on the end.

“Ah!” I said, spotting this. “This should not be here, should it?”

“It was awkward, going upstairs to our safes, Mr Rhea …”

“We kept forgetting and t’alarm kept going off, and so we hid a key in t’knife drawer … that’s t’one, t’key we all use, us and Jack that is, it’s t’only one left …”

“If Norman’s insurance company saw this, they’d never cover you again, you know. There’s no point in having a burglar alarm if you leave the key in all the time …”

“Nobody’s going to burgle us, Mr Rhea, nobody …”

“Our geese and dogs will stop ’em, Mr Rhea …”

Then I guessed where Jack was.

“Look,” I said, “when you go to bed, you turn the key and set your alarm. Is that right?”

“Yes, Mr Rhea, we do that,” they both spoke at once.

“And you leave the key in?”

“No, we put it in the knife drawer, so we both know where it is.”

“Would Jack know where it is?” I put to them.

“No, he thinks we put the keys in the safes, because that’s what we told the insurance man,” again they spoke together.

“So if Jack had come downstairs last night and crept away, he’d have set off the alarm, wouldn’t he?”

Cis nodded and so did Rene.

“Yes, Mr Rhea.”

“Yes, Mr Rhea.”

“But he didn’t set it off, and Cis said his bedroom door was locked, so that means he’s still in the room, doesn’t it?”

As I said it, I visualised him lying dead on his bed, having suffered a massive heart attack during the night. I’d dealt with many sudden deaths of this kind and this sounded like another. It looked as if I was going to be busy.