Washy and the Crocodile (14 page)

“And there's no need for a glass of water. Thank you for asking.”

“If you're ready, Mummy,” said Jack carefully in his new role as the caring investigator, “we need to talk about the robbery.” He had got out his special notebook, and was tapping it with his pencil. Jack had listened to a lot of detective stories, and he knew that someone should be taking notes. After all, his mother had seen a robbery, and therefore her testimony—he was sure that that was the right word—would be part of Evidence. Jack had a great respect for Evidence, even though he didn't quite understand what it was. But he didn't think it would include Mummy's views on her new shoes.

“This is very important,” said Jack, pulling his new notebook away from Tommy. “We have to find out
exactly
what you saw and heard. In detail.”

His mother scratched her ankle, where her new shoe had pinched it.

“That's the strange thing, Jack darling. The really strange thing.” She paused, and patted the dog, and stoked the fire a little, and laid the poker down thoughtfully. “I didn't really see anything. Not that I could make a statement about, anyway.”

“But... What happened?” Asked Jack, in a spasm of frustration.

“I don't quite know,” answered his mother, calmly. “And that's what I told the policeman. But he said he would come round anyway. To check that I was all right.” And she blushed.

As she said this, Uncle Otto slipped on his coat and slipped out of the back door again, but so quietly that even Tommy missed his chance, and the children did not notice him go at all.

“No
robbery
?” Said Jack in disappointment, and laid down his pencil. So much for his career as a star reporter! “What do you mean?”

“I'll try and tell you,” said his mother. “She sat down by the fire, and loosened her dress, and smiled at her two children. “Just let me get my breath. And yes, Jack. I would like a glass of water. Please.”

“Of course, Mummy,” said Jack, and went to fetch it without even looking at his sister. “I'll get it right now. You needn't bother, Evie,” he said generously to his sister, who hadn't moved a muscle. “I can do it. You're only a girl, after all.”

As he went into the kitchen there was a knock at the door. The knock of Authority, with a capital A. Tommy raised his head from his paws, but didn't bark. And her daughter, who could be an observant little girl when she wanted, noticed that her mother started, and looked quite confused for a moment, and then smoothed her dress nervously with her hand, and got up quickly and followed her son into the kitchen, for no possible reason that Evie could think of, and—

“I'll go!” Said Jack, rushing in, the glass of water slopping over in his hand.

“No way,” said Evie, opening the door. “I want to know what this is about.”

Tommy barked approvingly. He was rather curious, himself.

The figure of Authority who stood at the door was quite tall, and very white-skinned, and he had sandy hair and blue eyes and freckles. He wore his uniform, but he had taken off his cap, or they wouldn't have seen his hair, and then they wouldn't have known what colour it was, would they? Thought, Evie, who also thought that he looked rather nice.

“You look rather nice,” she said. “For a policeman. Have you come to arrest Mummy? She's in the kitchen. Come in. She'll be out in a moment.”

“Yes, do come in,” said Jack, who was trying to push past his sister and take in the new arrival properly. “I'm sure she won't be any trouble.”

The policeman blushed bright red, right to the roots of his hair, and looked at his feet.

“I haven't come to arrest Mrs Armstrong,” he said. “Of course not. I think she's a very fine woman.” He blushed again. “Not that that has anything to do with the purpose of my visit this afternoon. Not at all. The fact is—the fact is—”

“That she was a witness to a crime,” said Jack helpfully, “although she may not have realised it; and you've come to take a statement. So, you'd better come in, hadn't you?”

“And have a cup of tea,” said his sister, who was determined not to be outdone by her brother.

Meanwhile, Mummy had come out of the kitchen, and was looking at herself in the mirror, and the children noticed that she had put on her smart new shoes again.

“This is Mrs Armstrong,” said Jack helpfully. “She's my mother. And Evie's, too. My parents
were
married,” he added as an afterthought. After all, the visitor was a policeman. There was a small silence, while the policeman noticed something wrong with his left boot.

“I expect you want to know all the facts,” Jack went on importantly, and ignoring any atmosphere that his last remark might have provoked. “For your notebook,” he added portentously. “The one with numbered pages. It's Procedure. I know. I read about it. When I grow up”—Jack spoke as if this were a process that would be completed within a week or two, and was hardly worth preparing for—”when I grow up I want to be a policeman. A detective, really. Like you. I had wanted to be an acrobat. Or a cub reporter. Or a bricklayer's mate. But now I've changed my mind.”

He paused, importantly: the great orator in full flow. “My mother's full name is Annie Rose Armstrong, and she used to be married to my father, only he died, which was very sad, and we miss him very much, and they were married in a church in Surrey and there's the picture over the fire, beside my collection of conkers that I've been saving for
ages
, and she was born in—”

“Mummy,” said Evie, who could be a very obtuse little girl sometimes, and who had completely ignored what her brother was saying whilst she pursued her own line of thought, “I thought you said that those shoes were really—”

“Comfortable. As well as smart,” said Jack, and proved his real future as a politician. “The Inspector wants a statement, Mummy. From you. Because you saw the robbery. Which you haven't yet told us about.”

“Please make yourself at home... Inspector,” said Mummy, and she waved hospitably towards the best chair by the fire. Tommy wagged his tail approvingly. He liked policemen. On the whole. As long as—

The tall, sandy-haired man advanced stolidly into the room, as if he were wearing diver's boots. He anchored himself to the carpet and appeared not to notice the indicated chair at all: but Jack could see he had taken it all in. After all, he was a policeman. And probably a detective. Even though he wasn't in plain clothes. Jack thought that probably his wearing uniform was a sort of disguise in itself. Like plain clothes. So if a policeman in uniform was really in plain clothes, how was a police admirer like himself, who was only a small boy really, supposed to tell who was a real detective or not? It was all very puzzling, and he shook his head. Vigorously. Normally, Mummy would have told him not to do that, because he might shake his brains loose: but just at the moment, Mummy wasn't looking at her son at all. She was looking at the policeman. With approval.

“It's not Inspector, Mrs... Armstrong,” he said, not really looking at her, but taking it all in—just as Jack had supposed. “Your son has promoted me. Unlike the chief constable. It's just sergeant, I'm afraid. Sergeant Wilton. Harry Wilton. To his friends.”

“Wilton. Harry Wilton. What a nice name,” said Mummy, smiling, and looking very unupset for someone who had just not seen a robbery. “Please call me Annie. And do sit down. By the fire. It must be cold outside. Evie! Make a cup of tea, darling, please. For Sergeant Wilton. Harry Wilton.” And she smiled at him. It was a devastating smile, and he forgot why he had come. He forgot that he was a policeman, investigating a robbery. He forgot everything. He sat.

I'd love a cup of tea,” he said.

“Earl Grey?” Asked Evie politely. She was on her best behaviour.

“No. I'm still Sergeant Wilton,” he said; and they all laughed.

***

“So, Mrs Armstrong,” said the police sergeant, who had put his tea-cup down very carefully, and smiled at Evie, who thought he was quite human (for a policeman), and that she couldn't wait to tell her friend Samantha(always known as Sam) all about what had happened—

“So, Mrs Armstrong—”

“Annie. Please.”

“So. Annie.” (And he blushed.) “You went into the bank—to speak to the manager—”

“About money,” Jack interrupted. This was important. It might be Evidence.

“Thank you, Jack,” said the sergeant politely. “And what happened?”

“I was talking to the manager, said Annie slowly. “About my—about our overdraft—”

“You don't need to tell me about that,” said the policeman, slowly, and not making a note in his notebook. “It isn't evidence.”

Jack was disappointed. How could the policeman know that, at this stage of his investigation? If things went on like this, he might have to intervene.

“Everything was normal,” said his mother slowly. “A normal morning at the bank. I was in the manager's office, and there were a few people in the area outside. Waiting to be served. I expect you know the lay-out.”

“Yes,” said the policeman simply. “I checked it out.”

“Of course. About half-past ten—I happened to be looking at the clock—we heard some sort of noise and... confusion,” said Annie. “So the manager rushed out, and then there was a tremendous bang. Like an explosion. And then, I just sat there. I was terrified, I suppose. I didn't know what to do. I do remember thinking”... she paused.

“Yes?” Said the policeman gently. “What do you remember thinking?”

“I remember thinking, I wonder if this will affect my overdraft?” She blushed. “And then I started thinking about the children.”

“Very natural,” said the policeman sympathetically, and looked as if he were about to pat her knee, but didn't. “What was the manager doing?”

“He was standing in the main business area, talking to three young men who appeared to have just walked into the bank. They hadn't been there when I went in, anyway. They had face-masks on, and they looked very tough, and very frightening, and he had his hands in the air—just like in a silly film, really, a Hollywood film of a bank robbery. Only this was for real, and we were all very scared. Including the robbers. You could tell. Except for the leader.”

“What was he like?”

“Really scary,” said Evie unexpectedly, as if she had been in the bank with her mother, instead of at home; and Mummy patted her hand, and Jack snorted.

“Evie's right,” she said, “although I don't know how she could possibly tell. He was short, and rather dirty, and had very poor skin, and he'd shaved his head as those sort of men tend to do—”

“Ugh,” said Evie.

“And the manager's hands were trembling, and Mrs Jones said she needed to go to the lavatory, and the chief robber said that she would have to wait. And she said how long, and he laughed, and said until I tell you otherwise. He was quite polite, really, considering that he was the one with the shot-gun, and could say what he liked. But he had an awful sneer on his face and in his voice as well; and you could tell that he didn't like old ladies like Mrs Jones.”

Annie paused again and no-one said anything. Not even Jack. At first, he had thought that the policeman should have been asking more questions, but now he was beginning to work out what was going on. Sergeant Wilton didn't want to interrupt his mother any more than was necessary. This was Technique, and Jack admired it. The policeman was a real pro. If only his father were still alive! The two men could have been friends. Again, he brushed something away from his cheek. What was the matter with him, this morning?

“And then,” said his mother, “the stranger walked in.”

“Ah,” said the policeman, as if he were listening to a story, rather than taking a statement. “The mysterious stranger. We were very interested in this... stranger.”

“Were you?” Asked Annie. “I'm not surprised.” For the moment, she stared into the fire.

“He seems to be the key to the whole affair. And yet, no-one appears able to describe him,” said the police officer gently, and pretended to look back through his notes. “Perhaps you can help us... Annie.” And he smiled at her. “What did he look like?”

“I don't know,” said Annie. “I just don't know. Or at least, I can't describe him. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm such a bad witness.”

“You're a very good witness,” said the policeman, and this time he did pat her knee. Very gently. “You tell the truth. But let's try, shall we? What do you remember about him? Anything at all?”

“I think so, yes,” said Annie, grateful the policeman was so patient and understanding. “He seemed quite young. He was tall and slim, I think. He moved like an athlete in training, but you could see that it just came naturally to him. And he was very dark.”

“Tall, slim, and dark,” repeated the policeman thoughtfully, and looked back through his notes. “That's something everyone agrees on. Just about. Might he have been a foreigner? An Italian or a Greek gentleman, perhaps? Or even an Asian?”