Chapter Four #2
“Quite sure. I wouldn’t hear anything downstairs after I went to bed, though.
My bedroom is upstairs, under the roof, with a dormer window.
And Nick had his record-player on. Or perhaps his wireless.
He was listening to a piano concerto last night, Shostakovich, I think.
He knows I don’t mind being able to hear his music. ”
“I’m delighted to hear it. What about this morning?”
“When I took Teazle down to let her out first thing, she was even more interested in the stockroom door. It was difficult to get her to come away. I was sure there must be mice, and so I told Jocelyn—Mrs Stearns—later. I said not to let her in there without me or she’d create chaos.
When I went to start sorting the new stuff, she came with me—”
“Mrs Stearns?”
“Teazle. Mrs Stearns was busy in the shop by then. Teazle came with me. She started sniffing around at the back, and then she began to whine. I called her away and made her lie down by the door. I started tidying a pile of clothes, and that’s when I saw him.
” All too clearly, Eleanor recalled those pathetically bony ankles.
She reached for Jocelyn’s hand. “I don’t think .
. . I can’t remember if I touched him. I didn’t move him. I called Joce—”
“And I rang the police,” said Jocelyn decisively.
“I was not acquainted with the victim nor did I recognise him. I arrived here at approximately quarter to ten. The vicarage is just two minutes walk. I came in through the street door, which I found locked and unlocked myself. All our more responsible volunteers have keys to that door, so that they can come in to work in the stock-room without going through the shop. I have a list of names and addresses in the shop.”
“Excellent.”
“I went up the stairs and knocked on Mrs Trewynn’s door. When she called out ‘Come in,’ I entered. I have a key—as a friend, nothing to do with the shop—but the door was not locked at that time.”
“That was after I’d taken Teazle down for her morning run,” Eleanor explained.
Scumble gave a nod. “Apparently you had locked the street door when you came in last night. Did you lock this door, the door to your flat?”
Eleanor tried to think. She could picture herself putting the key in the lock and turning it, but was that last night? Or the night before? Or when she went out yesterday? “I have no idea,” she said a bit crossly, “and the more you ask, the more I can’t remember.”
Raising his eyes to heaven, Scumble turned back to Jocelyn. “Please continue, Mrs Stearns.”
“I exchanged a few words with Eleanor—Mrs Trewynn—and then went down to the shop. I entered through the door from the passage. It was locked. Only I and Mrs Davies have keys to that door. Mrs Trewynn does not.”
“Why is that?”
“I don’t need one. I never work in the shop because I have only to look at the cash register for it to malfunction.”
Scumble looked as if he wasn’t in the least surprised.
“I dusted a bit and checked the change Mrs Davies had left in the cash register yesterday at closing time. I should explain that as there’s no bank in the village, whichever of us is in charge takes home the greater part of the day’s takings. In any case, it’s rarely enough to tempt a thief.”
“You’d be surprised.”
“I put up the blinds and opened the shop at ten precisely,” Jocelyn went on.
Scumble again looked as if he wasn’t in the least surprised.
“I served one customer—I can give you her name if necessary—and then I heard Eleanor calling from the stockroom. I had unlocked the connecting door earlier. Again, only I and Mrs Davies have that key. One or the other of us is always here when the shop is open. I went through. Eleanor had found the body. I immediately put up the CLOSED sign, locked the door of the shop, and telephoned the police in Launceston. I wish to make it clear that I rang Launceston not because of any lack of faith in PC Leacock’s competence, but Mrs Leacock frequently answers the phone and she is quite incapable of keeping a still tongue in her head. ”
“Understood.”
“Eleanor was in a state of shock. I brought her up here and made tea, which I consider a far more efficacious remedy than brandy.”
“I don’t have any brandy anyway,” said Eleanor, “but I did drink several cups of tea, so if you will please excuse me for a moment . . .” Gathering what little dignity was left to her, she went up the stairs to her bedroom and, more important just now, her bathroom.
Teazle, who had been sitting subdued at her feet, naturally followed her.
Behind her she heard Scumble ask whether anything was missing or disarranged in the shop, and Jocelyn telling him all was as it should be, down to the last penny in the cash register.
Eleanor reflected on the curious fact that she, who had seen much unnatural death, was so much more shocked than the vicar’s wife.
Perhaps Jocelyn was shielded by her religion, though in Eleanor’s experience, most Christians were as reluctant as those of any other faith—or none—to depart this world for the next.
A few minutes later, Teazle scampered down the stairs ahead of her, as if determined to put the morning’s unpleasantness behind her. She gave Megan an ecstatic greeting, embarrassing Megan and making Scumble scowl.
“Mrs Trewynn,” he said, “are you aware of anything missing from your flat, or not in its usual place?”
“I don’t think so.” She looked around. How could she tell after Jocelyn had tidied?
“We’ll have to do a thorough search of the premises, the flat and the shop. We’ll try to disarrange things as little as possible. We’ll need your fingerprints, both of you, for elimination purposes. Constable?”
Megan took their fingerprints, a process Eleanor had been through more than once in some of the places she had travelled, but which exasperated Jocelyn.
“So messy!” she objected.
“Can’t be helped, I’m afraid, madam. Now, Mrs Trewynn, is there somewhere you can go while we—?”
“Eleanor will come home with me,” said Jocelyn.
“You’re the vicar’s wife, madam?”
“Yes, the Reverend Timothy Stearns. Our house is the vicarage. Anyone can direct you.”
“Good,” Scumble grunted. “We’ll probably have more questions for both of you.”
“You’d better pack up a few things for the night, Eleanor. You won’t want to sleep here.”
“Oh no—It’s very kind of you, Joce, but I’d rather come home, if Mr Scumble says I may.”
“Possibly, though I doubt it. In any case, please don’t remove anything just yet. If necessary, DS Pencarrow can fetch what you need later.”
“There, then, that’s settled. I’ll just get Teazle’s lead. Come on, girl, let’s go and see Uncle Timothy.”
The little dog bounced to the door and looked back impatiently. Uncle Timothy carried biscuits in his pocket for any stray children he happened to meet. He could often be persuaded to grant well-behaved dogs the status of honorary children.
“You’d better give me your keys, Mrs Trewynn,” the inspector said dryly, “so we can lock up when we’re done. I’ll see they’re brought to you at the vicarage.”
“Yes, of course. Er . . . I wonder where I put them?”
Scumble’s eyes once again turned up to the heavens. “If,” he said to the ceiling, “they are anywhere on the premises, we shall find them.” He stood up, crowding the room. “Good day, ladies. Please don’t discuss the incident with anyone, especially the press.”