Jack by the Hedge (Jack of All Trades Book 4) (20 page)

‘You think he’d got enemies then?’

‘He had a knack of rubbing people up the wrong way.’

DC Thomas nodded and jotted a note. ‘The park was closed when you found him. So what were you doing here, Mr Bell?’

‘Liz Parker, she’s acting manager, said I could bring in my telescope to look at the stars.’ He shrugged, a little embarrassed. ‘It’s my hobby.’

‘Not illegal, Jack,’ said Thomas with a smirk. ‘I can’t get you on that.’

‘Good,’ said Jack. ‘Anyway, I brought my telescope into the park, and was about to set up when I saw him. Over there, near the playground. Obviously in a bad way. Liz came out. She lives in one of those houses. And we decided I should take him straight to hospital.’

DC Thomas took some time writing this note.

‘Excuse me asking,’ said Jack. Thomas stopped writing and Jack went on. ‘Is this to do with the poisoning?’

‘That was not supposed to get out,’ said Thomas.

‘The doctor told me when I went in this morning with Mr Swift. That man there,’ he pointed out his partner working on the wall, ‘Ian’s Swift’s father.’

‘I’d be obliged if you keep the fact of poisoning to yourself.’

‘I’ve already told Liz.’

Thomas sighed. ‘And who knows who she’s told? Too late now.’

‘If you don’t mind me saying, you are somewhat junior,’ said Jack hesitantly.

‘We all have to start somewhere,’ said Thomas. ‘But I take your meaning. We’re not going to come in with a scene of crime team and a dozen vehicles, if we are unsure there’s been a crime at all. You, being a taxpayer, would be the first to complain.’

‘I don’t pay that much tax,’ said Jack with a short laugh. ‘I don’t earn enough.’

‘I never thought you were an eccentric millionaire, Mr Bell.’ Then added, ‘I’m here in a quiet way to find out if there is anything suspicious in Ian Swift’s death.’

‘Do you mean murder?’ said Jack.

‘Or an accident,’ said Thomas. ‘Let’s not rush to conclusions. Or nothing at all.’ He bit his thumbnail thoughtfully. ‘How many women work in the park?’

‘Why women?’

‘I’m asking the questions.’

‘Ian must have said something about a woman…’

Thomas gave him a broad smile. ‘You should be doing my job, Mr Bell. According to a nurse, his last words were:
she killed me
.’

‘Which could mean anything,’ said Jack. ‘Or nothing.’

‘Precisely.’

‘Well, there’s Liz Parker, the manager,’ said Jack. ‘I should say acting manager, then there’s her sister, Rose Parker, assistant gardener, and there’s Amy – and I don’t know her second name, she’s also an assistant. That’s all the women workers.’

DC Thomas jotted the names and closed his notebook. ‘Thank you for your assistance, Mr Bell. I’d be obliged if you could take me to Liz Parker.’

Chapter 40

Liz took the young detective constable into her office. His visit had taken her off guard. She excused herself and went to the toilet next door. Perhaps not a good idea as it showed her nervousness, but she needed to settle herself. She washed her hands and face in cold water. The police, so soon… This could be nothing. What could they know, after all? Give nothing away. Stick to the truth as far as possible. Liz took ten deep breaths, then held her hands out in front of her and stilled them, more or less. She looked in the mirror, her hair was somewhat straggly. Well, she was working and wouldn’t be judged on that. Her face was pale, rings under her eyes from lack of sleep.

Take it slow.

She went in to join the policeman, her stomach rolling as if she had been called upon to give a speech to an audience of a thousand.

‘Sorry for that,’ she said. ‘Policemen always make me nervous.’

‘These are simply preliminary questions, Mrs Parker. Don’t worry. There’s a little concern about Ian Swift’s death which we hope to clear up.’

‘It’s
Ms
Parker actually,’ she said.

‘My apologies. Must get these titles right. You’re not married?’

‘Single.’

‘And your address?’

‘2 Balaam Cottages. At the back of the park.’

He jotted her information down. She realised what he was doing. Asking simple questions to put her at her ease, and then dart in with a surprise.

‘How long have you known the deceased?’

‘Three years. Ever since I’ve lived there. Mine’s a tied house, it came with the job.’

‘You’re a qualified gardener?’

‘Yes, I am.’ Oh, that question again. She must be able to answer it truthfully. But here, she had to go on with the lie.

‘As a qualified gardener, how would you kill someone, Ms Parker?’

‘I beg your pardon.’

‘You must have poisons in your cupboard.’

‘Well, some of the insecticides and herbicides are certainly poisonous. But I’d never consider them as a way of killing someone…’

‘Why not?’

‘Because it has never occurred to me.’ Not true. She’d had suicidal moments, way back, and had considered the bottles and cans in the potting shed.

‘But if you did,’ he pursued.

‘Well, in Agatha Christie mode let’s say,’ she said with a weak smile. ‘Not a good idea. They’d taste vile. You couldn’t disguise them in a cup of coffee.’

‘What about a poisonous plant?’

‘I’m not an expert on this,’ she said, her neck prickly. ‘There’s monk’s hood. But we’d never grow that in a public park. I’ve heard castor oil plants have poisonous berries, or there’s laburnum seeds. But how poisonous they are, I’ve no idea. This really is not my field.’

‘What about mushrooms?’

‘Some of those are very poisonous. Yes. The amanitas for example… But I’ve never seen any of those in the park. Never. And if there were, I’m not sure how you’d begin…’ She was floundering, hot. ‘Try them on a cat perhaps, but then a cat is so much smaller than a human being…’

‘Maybe a horse,’ said Thomas with a grin. ‘I’ll be plain with you, Ms Parker. We don’t know whether there is anything to this at all.’ He waved a hand. ‘It’s simply possible. There’s an autopsy to be carried out, and we’ll know more then. Though another tack… If you were considering suicide, then might the chemicals in your cupboard be a way?’

‘If you were desperate enough…’ She shuddered. ‘But imagine drinking creosote or petrol. That’s the sort of flavour.’

‘I wouldn’t think there are many nice poisons, Ms Parker.’ He consulted his notebook. ‘There’s a Rose and an Amy I’d like to speak to. Where might I find them?’

‘Rose is in the playground. I’ll take you there.’

They left her office. It’s a long way to the playground when you’re watching every word, and working to breathe an innocent breath. Why had she offered to take him? She had no small talk for a detective, or for anyone else. She could so easily have told him where the playground was and sent him off.

It was her native politeness.

The sky had cleared, leaving a few small cumulus clouds adrift in the blue. There were still lots of leaves in the trees, yellow and burnt brown, whose time was near. Where was Amy? She should be vaccing all those on the lawn. All that fuss earlier. She noted Zar and Bill side by side with their spades, digging over one of the flower beds.

‘What’s the marquee for?’ asked Thomas.

‘It’s for tomorrow,’ she said, glad to be on a safe subject. ‘The Mayor comes every year to plant a tree, and in addition, this year, we have our local MP who’s not standing in the election, coming too. A headache really. On top of everything.’

‘Are you definitely the manager now?’

‘Most likely,’ she said, ‘It’s very sudden, you know... I’ve been told informally that it will be me, but they have to have their conversations.’ She stopped and pulled his arm. ‘What’s that?’

There was yelling from the playground. Screams.

‘Sounds like someone’s killing someone,’ said Thomas.

They speeded up as they passed the tennis courts, and saw in the playground two women in overalls fighting. Liz knew them at once as Amy and Rose, spinning round, clawing and kicking at each other.

‘It’s the two you want to see,’ exclaimed Liz.

The detective put a finger to his lips and they continued silently. Rose had fallen to the ground and Amy jumped on top of her, pulling the hair of the smaller woman, who was barely visible under Amy’s bulk, arms and legs flailing underneath her.

‘Give me it! You bow-legged cow,’ screeched Amy.

Rose’s answer was a piercing yell. The few women in the playground, by the swings and monkey bars, were watching as if it were wild animals fighting, keeping at a safe distance.

Thomas and Liz dragged Amy off.

‘She’s stolen my money! The thieving bitch!’

Rose was splayed out on the ground, breathing heavily, eyes screwed up, hands to her head and hair, groaning.

‘What’s going on here?’ said Liz to Amy.

‘She stole my money,’ screamed Amy. ‘Four hundred bloody quid!’ She turned on Liz. ‘She should never have been here in the first place. Just ‘cus she’s your sister!’

Rose had struggled to a seated position on the ground, wriggling her neck, rubbing her hair. She took a bundle of notes out of her pocket and held them out. ‘Here you are.’

Amy grabbed them and stuffed them in her sagging overalls.

‘What’s this all about?’ said Liz.

‘Women Fly Women,’ said Rose weakly.

‘Shut your ugly mug!’ screamed Amy.

‘What’s Women Fly Women?’ said Liz.

‘It’s her scam,’ said Rose, stumbling to her feet. ‘I was going to give you the money and tell you all about it, when she jumped me.’

Liz turned to Amy. ‘How long has this been going on?’

Amy did not reply. Her lips suddenly gummed.

‘Months,’ said Rose, ‘You pay her two hundred pounds and you get this junk perfume to sell and then have to bring three others in…’

‘I know about this,’ interrupted Thomas. He flashed his ID card. ‘Police.’ He turned to Amy, ‘You a pilot or a captain?’

She did not reply, looking about her as if there might be help somewhere. Her overall buttons were undone at her hips, one brace hanging loose. There were scratches on her cheek.

‘She’s a pilot,’ said Rose. ‘This is her aircraft.’ She swung her arm round the playground.

‘What the hell’s been going on in this playground?’ exclaimed Liz in bewilderment. ‘Pilots, aircraft, captains… Someone clue me in.’

‘Catch up later,’ said Thomas. He turned to Rose. ‘Do you know who the captain is?’

‘I’ve worked it out,’ she said.

‘So tell me what you’ve worked out,’ said Thomas.

‘I’ll kill you,’ screamed Amy jumping on Rose. ‘I’ll tear you limb from limb, you double-crossing bitch!’

Thomas and Liz were immediately on Amy, dragging her off Rose. They held her arms, spittle running down her chin. She fought against them, then subsided.

‘You had something to tell us,’ said Thomas to Rose.

‘I’ve never been in the playground before,’ said Rose, ‘and I was thinking to myself just why is that, why is it always me on leaf vaccing?’

‘Why?’ said Liz.

‘Because she’s a pilot,’ said Rose pointing at Amy, ‘and she has to be in her aircraft to take the money. And the captain made sure she was. Every day.’

‘Ian!’ exclaimed Liz, her hand hitting her forehead. ‘It had to be Ian. This is sort of making sense.’ She turned to the policeman. ‘And I put Rose in here today. And did Amy holler!’

Thomas moved swiftly. A pair of handcuffs were out of his pocket, one cuff slapped on Amy’s wrist before she realised what was happening. He pulled her arms behind her back and thrust her other wrist in the second.

‘Amy, I am arresting you on suspicion of being part of an illegal pyramid scheme, Women Fly Women,’ said the detective formally. ‘You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not answer something you later rely on in court.’ He held her arm, the caution done. ‘Don’t be more awkward then you’ve been already, Amy. Your best bet is to come clean, you’re small fry in this. I’m taking you to the police station.’

He held her arm to lead her off. Amy jerked away and spat at Rose. A gobbet landed on the young woman’s cheek, spray pitted her eyes.

‘I’ll murder you, you tosspot!’ screeched Amy. ‘You see if I don’t.’

DC Thomas pulled her away and led her out of the playground.

Chapter 41

Jack and Mr Swift had laid two courses of bricks. Jack was working from one end and Mr Swift from the other. They each had a bucket of mortar that Jack topped up from the nearby wheelbarrow as needed. Swift had the expertise; in one movement with the trowel he scooped up exactly the right amount of mortar, while Jack took too much or too little and had to adjust.

‘You’re not a bricklayer, are you, son?’ said the old man as they met in the middle.

‘I trained as a carpenter,’ said Jack. ‘I don’t do a lot of bricklaying.’

‘Your work’s OK,’ said Mr Swift, looking at the bricks Jack had laid. ‘You do your checking with the spirit level OK, but it’s the knack you haven’t got.’

‘I never do it long enough,’ said Jack. ‘My last job was shop fitting. My next is some kitchen work. Don’t know when I’ll be a brickie again.’

‘No offence,’ said the old man, ‘but I wouldn’t have had you on site. Too slow.’

Jack shrugged. ‘I’m self employed, so if I’m slow that’s my loss. Long as it’s good enough.’

‘Good enough,’ nodded the old man. ‘The mortar’s right, you cleaned the bricks well. You just haven’t got a bricklayer’s speed on the trowel.’ The old man put his trowel down. ‘Do you mind if I take a break?’

‘Of course not.’

‘You’ll never make a foreman.’ He laughed, cutting it short with a wince. ‘These old bones won’t take it.’

‘I’ll get you a chair,’ said Jack.

He went into the yard and to the mess hut. And brought out a chair. He put it down and helped Mr Swift on to it.

‘That’s better, son. Too low down those bottom courses.’

‘Work to your own time,’ said Jack.

‘I know, I know,’ said the old man with a laugh. ‘It’s not as if I’m getting paid.’

Jack was no longer listening but watching the detective constable and Amy coming down the drive. Her hands were behind her back and she was shuffling along, her clothes awry. DC Thomas was talking into his phone. Jack watched them come in, puzzled.