The Blackwoods Farm Enquiry (An Ivy Beasley Mystery) (11 page)

WHEN GUS RETURNED
to his cottage, there was a message on his phone. It was Eleanor Blatch, and her voice was firm. “Good news, Gus,” she said. “The vet says the old dog died of heart failure. Probably on the blink, but had enough strength to climb the step to the back door. Do you think he was trying to get into the house? Poor old devil. But it was natural causes, I’m glad to say. I shall bury him at the bottom of the vegetable garden, where Ted’s dad put the others. Over the years, of course. See you this evening! Bye!”

Gus shivered. The others? He hoped they were all canine. What should he do this afternoon? He was reluctant to stay by himself, watching the hours go by until it was time for duty at Blackwoods Farm. He looked out of his window. The sun had come out, and the sound of the Budd children playing in their garden at the end of the terrace cheered him.

“I know, Whippy,” he said. “Let’s go across to Springfields, and have a chat with Ivy and Roy. They’ll want to know how I survived last night.”

He did not really want to go over it again, but he would have to make a proper report sooner or later, so he set off across the Green. Halfway across, a ball from the footballing lads hit him in the back. He stopped, and was about to explode, when he thought that it had probably not been deliberate, and so lined himself up and kicked the ball very accurately into their makeshift net on the other end of the Green.

Applause greeted this, all the boys joining in. “Come and join us!” one of them shouted. He shook his head and continued on towards Springfields. What a day! What a night and a day! He quickened his pace now, feeling refreshed. Ivy and Roy were in the lounge, playing Scrabble, while most of the other residents snoozed. It was peaceful, and when Ivy welcomed him warmly and ordered tea, even including Whippy in the invitation to repair to Ivy’s room and have a chat, he felt supported, restored, and ready to face the night.

• • •

“SO YOU ARE
beginning to suspect that she’s made it all up? Much as my beloved guessed earlier on?” said Roy.

Gus nodded. “Not all of it. I still think she’s nervous about being there alone. Someone might have disliked her enough to frighten her years ago, and she obviously has bad dreams. Unless all that was a convincing charade.”

Ivy nodded. “I must say I thought at the time that she was released from hospital sooner than I expected. Maybe she exaggerated her injuries. What do you think, Roy?”

“Very difficult to say. I can’t believe she deliberately put her own chickens in danger, and now the vet said the dog died from natural causes.”

“You said you heard footsteps in the night, Gus,” said Ivy. “It could’ve been her going down to open the hen coop. As for the night visitor, more likely a nightmare. Always been one for histrionics, apparently. Nightmares can be very frightening, though. Especially the kind where you can’t shake it off when you wake up, and it seems real.”

“I suppose she couldn’t be taking hallucinating drugs?” Roy had a sketchy knowledge of such things, but knew it was possible.

“Doubt it,” said Gus. “Although she could be. There’s so much we don’t know about this case, so I suppose we’ll have to carry on with it.”

“As long as we think there’s some truth in what she says,” Ivy said. “We have every right to cancel our enquiry, if we are convinced she is misleading us with lies.”

“Well said, beloved,” said Roy. “Shall we see what information you can glean from her tonight, Gus? Then we can come to a decision.”

Eventually, as twilight fell over the village, Gus set off from home once more, and, steeling himself, put his mobile in his pocket and headed across the green towards Blackwoods Farm. Whippy, showing marked reluctance, followed at his heels.

Halfway across, he caught sight of a group of people coming towards him and branching off in the direction of the pub. He sighed. He could do with a pint or two just now. Perhaps he could indulge himself with a glass of Old Hooky to blunt the effect of looking after a deranged woman? Even Whippy seemed to cheer up as they entered the pub.

“Evening, all,” he said, as he walked to the bar. A chorus of greeting came to him from the young people. In no time at all, he was leaning on the bar and chatting to an older man, who told him that they were from the Manor House College.

These youngsters are my students,” he said, and held out his hand. “Rickwood Smith, at your service, Mister, er . . . ?”

“Halfhide,” said Gus. “And are they on the creative writing course, by any chance?”

“Yes, we are,” said an attractive blonde girl with a friendly smile. “Most of this lot are in residence already, but I live locally. In Spinney Close. Samantha Earnshaw is my name. I’m joining in the getting-to-know-you stuff, so we shall all be best mates by the time the course starts in earnest.”

“A colleague of mine will be on the course,” said Gus. “It will be interesting to see how she is received. She’s well into her seventies!”

“More the merrier,” said Rickwood Smith expansively. “We shall welcome a different perspective on life.”

“Another drink all round?” said Gus, privately hoping they were on halves of shandy. “And here’s to success in the course!”

• • •

WHEN GUS ARRIVED
as arranged, Mrs. Blatch seemed unwilling to talk. As before, she offered him a nightcap, but when he hesitated, she did not insist. “Early bed for me,” she said. “I’m quite tired now. Not much sleep last night, as you know!” she said. “I promise not to disturb you tonight. I might leave my light on all night. That should fix the apparition.”

“So you do now think it was a figment of your poor old sleepy mind,” Gus said consolingly, trusting this would not annoy. He was not expecting a tantrum, but she banged the table and said if that was what he thought, she would leave him and his dog to find their own way upstairs. She then turned off all the lights except the one over the stairs, and disappeared into her room.

“Um, yes, well, Whippy, we’d better go up, too,” he said. “Or maybe we could go home, and call it a day?”

“No, you couldn’t,” said Eleanor, reappearing at the top of the stairs. “I’ve paid you to stay here. So here you’ll stay, thanks very much.” Then she disappeared again.

Gus was not pleased, and felt he was being sent upstairs to bed like a naughty boy. He put the sitting room light on, and took out a book from his bag. He would read until he felt sleepy, and then go up. He searched in his toilet bag and found two small earplugs, which he inserted firmly. The drama queen could yell herself stupid, but he would sleep on, aided by two pints of Old Hooky and a quiet night.

Nothing more untoward happened, and he fell asleep quickly, with Whippy keeping his feet warm. He was amazed when he awoke and saw daylight through the curtains. His travelling clock told him it was six thirty, and he got out of bed and pulled on his clothes. His head was thumping, but a shower and shave would fix that when he returned home. Whippy, still ill at ease, stood by the door, clearly wanting to be released.

“A better night, eh, dog?” Gus could see the principal bedroom door was closed, and tiptoed downstairs, unwilling to wake up his client. There had been no dramas in the night, and he would slip away without her noticing he’d gone. He could leave a note on the kitchen table, saying he would be back for a further consultation during the day. But not another night!

Remembering he had left his book in the sitting room, he went back, drew the curtains and spotted it on the sofa. He went across to collect it, glancing out the windows as he turned. He could see the fire escape, leading down from the dark chamber, and he hesitated. There was something curled up in the steel cage at the base. He looked more closely, opening the French window into the garden. As he got closer, his heart beat faster, and then he was sure. It was Eleanor, and she was no longer alive.

GUS HAD HAD
enough time to telephone Deirdre, and ask her to tell the others the grim news, before Inspector Frobisher arrived, accompanied by his assistant, an attractive policewoman in sensible shoes.

“So what time was it when you found her, Mr. Halfhide?” asked Frobisher. The inspector knew Gus from previous cases, and was well aware that his good friend Deirdre Bloxham had nobbled Augustus Halfhide soon after he arrived in Barrington.

“I suppose it was around six thirty this morning. I had woken early, and hoped to be away before Mrs. Blatch was up and about. But before we go any further, Inspector, I should tell you that Mrs. Blatch has a sister Mary, living in Spinney Close in this village. She is disabled, but has her nephew, Rickwood Smith, staying with her at the moment. I’m not sure this will be in your records, as they don’t have anything to do with each other. A family feud, apparently. I expect they should be told as soon as possible, if only as a courtesy?”

Frobisher nodded, and spoke to his assistant, who disappeared, only to reappear five minutes later. She muttered something to the inspector and settled down again.

“So, now, you had been spending the night here? Are you a frequent night visitor to this woman living alone?”

Gus explained that he had agreed to spend a couple of nights at Blackwoods to help tide her over a panic attack and nightmarish dreams. “She is a client of Enquire Within, as you know, Inspector,” he said. “I had no amorous intentions concerning Mrs. Blatch, I can assure you. She asked Enquire Within to supply this service, and I was the one who, well, who . . .”

“Drew the short straw, Mr. Halfhide?” supplied the inspector. “Were you intending to be back tonight, continuing your service of reassurance?”

Gus shook his head. “No, I’d had enough, Inspector. It is a creepy old house, with floorboards creaking at night, and cold draughts of air when there are no windows open. She’s welcome to it!”

“Please continue,” said the Inspector. “My team will be arriving very shortly to do the necessary investigations on and around the deceased.”

“You’ll have seen to this already, I’m sure. But there’s a small room in this house,” began Gus, “which is sometimes locked, though your chaps will be able to unlock it. It is the one that leads out to the fire escape. It’s just that, well, on one occasion, when I first looked around the house when Mrs. Blatch was in hospital, the small room was open, and I walked in, only to find that it been cleaned, with no sign of cigars.”

“Right, well, thank you, Mr. Halfhide. I can hear the team arriving, so that will be all for now. I shall, of course, want to talk to you further. Oh, and by the way, I suppose you couldn’t remember the brand of cigar?”

Gus shook his head. “Not sure, Inspector. Looked expensive.”

“Right, well, I shall want to hear more about those nightmarish dreams of Mrs. Blatch’s, so perhaps you will not mind accompanying my assistant down to the police station where we can continue our talk.”

“Me? Down to the station? You’re surely not suggesting I am under suspicion! Really, Inspector, that is truly ridiculous!”

“Nevertheless, Mr. Halfhide, it will be necessary.”

• • •

A SIZABLE CROWD
had gathered outside Blackwoods Farm, brought by the sound of sirens, police cars and an ambulance with flashing lights arriving in Manor Road. As Gus was accompanied by the policewoman to a waiting car, he felt like Danton on the way to the scaffold.

“At least you’re not suggesting we go by tumbril,” he said. The policewoman did not answer, but stood by as he opened the passenger-side door, stepped in and anchored himself with the seat belt.

“All set, Mr. Halfhide?” she said, and they drove off. The crowd’s heads turned as they went, and Gus was mortified to see the shocked face of Miriam Blake among them.

As they drove towards Thornwell, the policewoman made one or two fruitless attempts at conversation, trying, without committing herself, to explain the inspector’s decision.

“No offence,” said Gus, “but I do not intend to say anything at all until I make a statement. I need to phone my lawyer, but first can you please make sure my dog is taken to Miss Blake at number three Hangman’s Row? She will come into the garden via the cat flap. This is very important, as she has no road sense and could easily be run over trying to find her way home. That is, the whippet, not Miss Blake.”

The policewoman detected a break in Gus’s voice, and drew the car to a halt. In two minutes she had delivered the message, and was able to reassure him that Whippy was safe, and had been collected by Miss Blake, who was already on the scene.

• • •

NOW REASSURED ABOUT
Whippy, Gus relapsed into silence, trying hard to think his way round this ridiculous situation. Barry Frobisher was one of Deirdre’s former
amoureux
, for God’s sake! He must know that she would never befriend a potential murderer?

When he had cooled down, he began to see the whole thing more clearly, through the eyes of a policeman. A woman had been found dead, possibly murdered, and a man, himself, had been found in her house, having spent the night there, claiming he knew nothing about it.

But he had summoned the police. Surely, if he had done the dreadful deed, he would have done a runner as fast as he could? But then again, if he had constructed a good enough alibi for himself, it could be a double bluff. So what was his alibi? That he had spent the night in the house, in a bedroom near the woman’s own, had arisen early and planned to exit the house before she woke. A sudden thought had struck him. Mrs. Blatch had not shown up at all that morning, and he had gone to take a look in the sitting room, and had found her outside in the fire escape. So what?

“Guilty as hell!” he said loudly, and the policewoman looked at him in alarm.

“Sorry, what did you say, Mr. Halfhide? Don’t upset yourself. We are nearly there, and I’m sure that after the inspector has had another chat with you, you will be free to leave. And yes, of course you can phone your lawyer.”

As she steered him gently, one hand under his elbow, into the police station, she said quietly that if he’d been guilty as hell, it was very unlikely she would have been allowed to bring him into town unescorted and sitting in the front seat next to a woman driver.

• • •

AS THE INSPECTOR
finally came out of Blackwoods Farm, the crowd had dispersed but a large cream Bentley now stood outside the cordon. Inside, much to his dismay, he saw Deirdre Bloxham staring at him with a face like doom.

She opened her door and stepped out into the road to meet him.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Barry?” she said, loudly enough to reach a couple of plods on duty by the entrance to the farm.

“Please, Deirdre,” he muttered into her ear. “I can explain everything. I need to take a statement from you, and also Miss Beasley and Mr. Goodman. Perhaps the best thing is if I follow you to Springfields, and then we can worry them as little as possible. They must be very alarmed already.”

“Not helped by your idiocy in arresting Gus and taking him off in chains!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, my dear. He agreed to my request. That is all, and as soon as I have had time to talk to him again, I’m sure there will be no need to keep him.”

Deirdre, with a face of stone, turned back to her car and waited for him to follow her down into the village and round to Springfields gate. She alighted quickly, and came to his window, rapping on it sharply. He opened it, and she told him to wait until she had prepared them.

“They are old people, Barry Frobisher!” she said. “Living in a residential home because they are frail.”

“Though their spirits are strong,” Frobisher said, “or so I believe.”

“Wait here,” said Deirdre, “until I tell you to come in.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the inspector, and touched his forelock.

“Oh, for God’s sake!” said Deirdre, and marched off towards Springfields reception.