Fall of a Philanderer (24 page)

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Authors: Carola Dunn

BOOK: Fall of a Philanderer
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He fell into an abstracted silence and, when they reached the hall, turned Baskin over to DS Horrocks.
Little though he wished to, Alec had to consult Mallow, or the man would be justifiably miffed. As it was, he was obsequiously flattering about Alec's forethought, but he did provide one or two ideas which might prove useful in the event that the plan was needed.
 
 
Half past ten. Baskin was long gone. The Schooner's bars closed and the hall filled with weary officers looking longingly at their stacked bedding. Alec tried to imagine interrogating a young and probably frightened girl in these surroundings, and failed.
“You fellows can turn in,” he said. “I'll see Miss Coleman up at the police station.”
He, Mallow, Horrocks and Puckle walked up the hill together. As they entered the station house, Puckle yawned enormously. Alec sent him to bed, then caught Inspector Mallow trying to suppress a yawn. “You'd better go too.”
“I'm not tired, sir. Yawns are catching.”
“Undeniable, but it's been a long day and I want you fresh in the morning. Off you go.”
He was glad of an excuse to get rid of the man. There was no knowing what effect one of Mallow's “bombs” might have on Olive. They didn't want to be accused of bullying a sixteen-year-old female witness. In fact, he ought to have arranged for a woman to be present. The thought of bringing her mother over from the farm had occurred earlier, only to be dismissed, and then he had forgotten in the press of other business.
Mrs. Hammett? Heaven forbid! Daisy? If she had not been expecting a baby, Alec would have been tempted, but she needed her rest. Maybe the Newton Abbot people would think of sending a woman with her, perhaps even the friend she was staying with. If not, Mrs. Puckle would have to be roused.
Eleven o'clock. “The picture-palace will be closing now,” said Horrocks. “Mr. Mallow arranged that they'd ring up when they picked her up, before setting out.”
Quarter past eleven. No telephone call. “I hope to heaven they haven't missed her,” said Alec, “or discovered we're after the wrong girl.”
“They'd've rung up for sure, sir, if it turned out not to be Olive Coleman.”
Half past eleven. “Do you think she ran for it, sir?” asked Horrocks.
“I hope not, Sergeant. I hope not.”
Quarter to twelve. “I suppose they forgot to telephone. They should be here soon.”
The call came at five minutes before midnight. Horrocks picked up the receiver, handling it awkwardly with his bandaged hand. “Westcombe Police Station—DS Horrocks here.” Horrocks fell silent. All Alec could hear was a sort of quacking noise coming over the wire. Then the sergeant said, “Oh lor'! You'd better speak to the DCI.”
“No, no!” came through clearly. “You tell him. We'll be in touch in the morning.”
“He's rung off.” Horrocks hung up and turned to Alec. “Well, we could've gone to bed an hour ago, sir. They've botched it good and proper. When they tapped the girl on the shoulder, she fell into a fit of hysterics and they had to call in a doctor. She's under sedation and won't be fit to question till tomorrow.”
“Damn!” said Alec. “Did they at least find out whether it's Olive?”
“Yes, sir, from the friend, Mrs. Dabb. It's her, right enough.”
“That's something. But damn, I'd hoped we could get this business sorted out tonight and wound up first thing in the morning. I'll be very surprised if they get her to us before noon, and in the meantime we'll have to go on digging elsewhere, just in case she hasn't got the answer … No, I'll tell you what, Horrocks, we'll leave the digging to Mr. Mallow and you and I will go to Newton Abbot to talk to her at her friend's house. Surely she's less likely to throw a fit there than at a police station!”
“'Spect so. Unless … Sir, d'you think she went all to pieces because she done it?”
“It's possible. Or because she thought her father had caught up with her.”
“Or the murderer, if so be it weren't her pa.”
“We can't rule anything out. Did they put a watch on the house?”
“Dunno, sir. He didn't mention it.”
“Then ring back and tell them I want a man on the front door and another on the back. Whatever Olive Coleman's running from, we can't afford to let her run any farther.”
A
steady wind still blew up the inlet when Alec stepped out into the early morning sun. Walking into the village, he noted that the great swells rolling up the inlet had not subsided overnight, as he had hoped. He would without fail be thoroughly seasick if he took the ferry to Abbotsford. It was out of the question.
That meant Sergeant Tumbelow would have to give him and DS Horrocks a lift to the station. Though unattractive, the discomfort of the motor-bicycle was immeasurably to be preferred to the agonies of
mal de mer.
But when he saw Horrocks's pale face and the gingerly way he used his injured hand, Alec decided taking him along was out of the question.
Young Vernon, haled out of bed long before his usual hour, put on a fresh dressing and prescribed aspirin and a sling. “I don't
think
it's infected,” he said cautiously, “but perhaps you'd better go along to my uncle's surgery at ten. After all, I'm not actually qualified yet, don't you know, and animal bites can turn nasty.”
“I'm quite all right to go to Newton Abbot wi' you, Chief Inspector, sir!”
“Not on your life. I'm sure Inspector Mallow can make use of you here. Vernon, would I be taking my life in my hands if I asked you to
drive me into Abbotsford to catch a train? You did say you own a car?”
“She's just a little Gwynne, but she'll get you to Newton Abbot faster than the train. Even if I obey the speed limit,” Vernon added with a grin, “having a copper on board. Or does being on police business give me licence to speed? Anyway, I'll take you all the way, sir.”
He was as good as his word. By ten o'clock, Alec had called in at the Newton Abbot police station and was knocking on the door of the hideous, jerry-built, modern bungalow where Olive Coleman's dairy-maid friend resided.
 
Daisy slept like a log. When at last she awoke, the pillow beside her was dented, so Alec must have been there. She hadn't the faintest recollection of his arrival or departure.
The clock on the mantelpiece opposite the bed said nearly ten o'clock. Twelve hours' sleep! No wonder she felt bright and full of energy. She also felt ravenous. She gave her abdomen an apologetic pat. “Sorry, you must be starving, baby. Breakfast's long over, but I expect Cecily will give us some bread and butter to keep us going till lunchtime.”
Alec had left a note on the dressing-table. He had to go to Newton Abbot to interview Olive Coleman, but hoped to wrap up the case this morning and, with any luck, be back for lunch.
What were the girls up to in Daisy's absence? She washed and dressed quickly and went downstairs.
Cecily looked round from the flowers she was arranging on the hall table. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” she said with a smile. “Bacon and eggs in five minutes?”
“Really? Yes, please! I'll come and eat in the kitchen if it's more convenient. It's too noble of you—I was hoping to beg a crust of dry bread.”
Leading the way to the kitchen, Cecily laughed. “When the others finished breakfast with no sign of your appearance, Belinda begged
me to leave out something cold for you. She said you'd be dying of hunger. What a dear that child is!”
“Isn't she? Where are the girls?”
“On the beach.”
“Alone?” Daisy asked anxiously. “Have the waves gone down?”
“They're about the same, but the tide is an hour later. Peter said they're safe for a while yet, but he and Mr. Baskin went with them anyway. I popped down to see what was going on, and you've never seen two grown men have such fun messing about in the sand!”
How Cecily had changed in a few short days, Daisy thought, as sizzling bacon filled the kitchen with its heavenly smell. Her sins were forgiven, her husband safe from arrest, and her aloof diffidence metamorphosed into cheerful sociability. If Alec had not been on hand, Peter Anstruther might now be languishing in a gaol cell, while his wife tried frantically to find a good lawyer to defend him.
It was worth the loss of half their holiday—not that Daisy didn't intend to make sure Superintendent Crane gave Alec another holiday to make up.
As she was finishing her breakfast, the beach party came in, covered with sand. Daisy sent the girls to wash and change into clothes suitable to walk into the village. She needed yet more postcards, Belinda ought to write again to her grandparents, and Deva must write to her mother. Baskin decided to go with them to drop into the parish hall and find out what was going on.
“I hope your husband has made an arrest by now,” he said privately to Daisy as the girls raced ahead along the track, “so that he won't have to trouble Elizabeth.”
“I hope so too, so that he can have a few days to enjoy this beautiful place before we go back to town!”
Having bought their postcards and stamps and exchanged their library books, Daisy and the girls headed down the busy street towards the quay. They were halfway down the hill when an earsplitting
crrrack
startled them to a halt. Everyone in the street looked up as a
series of bangs rang out and a burst of fiery multi-coloured stars sparkled high in the blue sky.
“A rocket!” Deva exclaimed.
All the local people were suddenly in motion, most of them running down the cobbles to the waterside. Daisy couldn't move.
“For the lifeboat,” said Belinda. “You remember, Mummy, like when Daddy found the body and they fired a rocket—they called it a maroon—so the lifeboatmen would come to man the boat.”
“To go and fetch the body, Mrs. Fletcher, 'member?”
Daisy remembered all too clearly. Not another body at the bottom of a cliff. It couldn't—mustn't—be another murder!
“Come on, Mummy. Let's go and watch them launch the boat. Everyone's going.”
She let the girls shepherd her down to the quay. Everyone was talking at once, the broad, slow Devonshire accent confusing her ears.
The lifeboat house at the end of the quay was bedecked with fading bunting in celebration of the centenary of the RNLI. Its doors stood open. Half the population of the village seemed to be helping to drag the white,
blue and red lifeboat out on its wheeled carriage and easing it down the slipway.
Mrs. Hammett emerged from the crowd. “It's the idiot, that Sid Coleman,” she told Daisy. “A couple of fishermen saw him climbing into a cave. They say it's quite safe in the ordinary way, but today's the spring tide and wi' the waves kicked up by the storm and a strong onshore wind, the cave'll fill wi' water and drownd him.”
“Why didn't they go and stop him?” Daisy was horrified. It was her fault Sid had been driven from his humble home and gone into hiding, all because she had told Alec he was Olive's uncle. If he drowned, she'd never forgive herself.
“They shouted and waved, is what I heard, but he just went the faster. Their boat not being built for inshore work, they came back in a hurry to call out the lifeboat. Though why a dozen able-bodied men should risk their lives for an idiot is more than I can tell!”
“They've volunteered to help anyone in danger, haven't they? Not to pick and choose. And they have life-jackets.”
The boat was floating now, and several men were in it, shrugging into the bulky life-jackets. Two of them looked familiar to Daisy, but she couldn't place them. A couple more came running. Timing their jumps to the rise of the boat on a swell, they dropped down.

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