Chapter Nine
NINE
The sun had cleared the hills surrounding Port Mabyn and shone through spotless windows into the vicarage kitchen. Eleanor and the Stearns were just finishing breakfast when the doorbell rang, at eight o’clock on the dot.
“I’ll get it,” said Eleanor, putting down her coffee mug, blue and white striped Cornish pottery like the rest of the breakfast service.
So like dear Joce to have a matching set, though she’d had to collect it piece by piece from the LonStar shop.
“It’ll be whoever Inspector Scumble sent—I do hope it’s Megan. ”
Megan it was. She followed Eleanor into the kitchen.
The Vicar unfolded. “Good morning, my dear young lady. You want to talk to Jocelyn and Eleanor, I know, so I’ll make myself scarce.”
“No, please stay a moment, sir. I’ve got a photo of the victim I’m showing everyone. We still don’t know who he was.”
“Is it . . . is it very unpleasant?”
“No, no, they cleaned him up. Here.”
He took it between thumb and forefinger and peered at it. “No,” he said, with obvious relief. “Never seen him in my life. Here, Jocelyn, what about you?” He handed the photo to his wife and sidled out of the room.
Eleanor looked over Jocelyn’s shoulder. The thin face was young, but not too young to be badly in need of a shave.
The dark, fuzzy stubble softened but didn’t conceal a bruise on the right side of his jawbone, an inch or two up from the point of his chin.
The long hair had been combed but still gave an impression of uncleanness.
“No, I’ve never seen him before,” said Jocelyn, handing the photo to Eleanor. “Do sit down, Megan. Coffee?”
However hard Eleanor tried to be charitable, tried to make allowances for the changes wrought by death, she thought the youth looked shifty, even unsavoury.
Was it just because he had been found in unsavoury circumstances in the room below her flat?
If his eyes were open, his expression full of life, would she feel different about him?
“Do you recognise him, Aunt Nell?”
“No, dear, I’m afraid not. I can’t help wondering about his parents. Not knowing what’s become of him, I mean.”
“Sometimes ignorance is bliss,” said Jocelyn. “I expect you’ll identify him sooner or later, won’t you, Megan? That’s when his family will need sympathy.”
“We’re pretty well bound to find out sooner or later, one way or another.
Then we’ll start tracking down his associates.
” Megan put the photo in an envelope and stuck it in her pocket.
“It’s still a mystery what he was doing in the LonStar premises in the first place.
Aunt Nell, the DI said there’s something you were going to tell him last night? ”
Jocelyn stood up. “Well, I’ll just leave you two to it—”
Eleanor caught her arm. “Don’t desert me, Joce.”
“I never saw them, after all. And it’s Megan you’re facing, not that man.”
“Them?” asked Megan. “What’s going on?”
“It’s nothing but hearsay as far as I’m concerned,” said Jocelyn firmly. “Leave the washing-up. I’ll do it later.” She hurried out.
“Aunt Nell?”
“I tried to tell him last night.”
“But?”
“But I should have told him sooner. He’ll never believe I just kept forgetting.”
“He’ll believe it,” Megan said with absolute conviction. “Come on, let’s do the washing-up while you tell me. You wash and I’ll dry, in case I have to write anything down.”
“You will,” said Eleanor gloomily. “I don’t know what it all means, but I can’t believe it has nothing to do with the murder.” She started running hot water into the sink, adding a good squirt of Sqezy, the Washing-up Wizard. “That would be just too much coincidence to swallow.”
“For pity’s sake, Aunt Nell, spit it out!”
“What a very ungenteel expression! All right, all right. I’ll ‘spit it out.’ It wasn’t until I got back to the shop that I found it.” She handed over a cup to be dried. “When I started unloading the Incorruptible, there it was, and I simply had no idea who had given it to me.”
“It? You were talking about ‘them.’ ”
“The container and the thing contained,” said Eleanor, with vague memories of English lessons and Nick’s earlier remark.
“Things, rather. The briefcase I mean, dear, or perhaps attaché-case is the correct term. It’s one of those thingummies businessmen carry, but not the flat, soft-sided kind, more like a small suitcase, if you see what I mean.
But thin, a couple of inches I’d say.” She gestured to show the overall dimensions—perhaps two feet by eighteen inches—and soapsuds flew. “Quite heavy for its size.”
“I get the picture.”
“I took it back to the stockroom and opened it. Megan, it was full of jewelry!”
“Jewelry!” Megan nearly dropped the saucer she was drying. “You’re not serious!”
“Absolutely, dear. It must be paste, of course, or whatever artificial gems are made of these days, but still quite valuable, and so very generous of someone. But such a trouble! We aren’t allowed to accept that sort of thing without proof of ownership and all sorts of paperwork.
Joce always deals with it so I’m not sure exactly what’s needed.
And it had appeared out of thin air without even a name to go with it. ”
“So you tucked it away in a corner of the stockroom and forgot about it?” Detective Sergeant Pencarrow asked in incredulous horror.
“Of course not. Do give me credit for a modicum of common sense!” Eleanor said quite crossly. “I took it upstairs and locked it in the safe.”
“In your flat? There’s a safe in your flat?”
“I had it built in when I bought the place and remodelled it. These old cottages have pretty thick walls, you know. Joce thought it would be a good idea, safer than in the shop. We’ve both been very careful never to tell a soul about it.
I expect that’s why I forgot to mention it to the inspector, besides being sure he’d find it, used to searching places as he must be.
Only it seems he didn’t, or he’d have asked me to open it, wouldn’t he? ”
“Undoubtedly.”
“And I’m afraid he’ll be rather annoyed, with me for not telling him, and with himself for not finding it. So, you see, I’m very glad it’s you who came this morning and I’ve been able to tell you, instead of him.” She handed over the last plate and started to scrub the frying pan.
Automatically drying the plate, Megan said, “You’re going to have to tell him, too.
This is going to change everything. It’s the first hint we’ve had of a significant motive for the break-in!
He won’t be satisfied with hearing it from me, you know.
Besides, he’s going to have a lot of questions.
There’s no point me asking them. You’d only have to repeat the answers. I’d better go and ring him right away.”
“If you must, dear,” said Eleanor with a sigh.
“He just about blew my socks off,” Megan reported, “as if it was my fault! You’re to wait here, Aunt Nell.
It’s more of an order than a request. While the inspector is on his way from Launceston, I’ve got to show the photo of the victim to anyone and everyone I can find, so I’ll come and fetch you when I see his car at the shop.
Please don’t go anywhere or talk to anyone. ”
Jocelyn stiffened. “I assume Mr Scumble doesn’t propose to put me under house arrest also? I have parish business to be seen to.”
“It’s not house arrest, Mrs Stearns, just a . . . well, just he’s going to be even more upset if Aunt Nell isn’t available when he gets here. He didn’t actually say anything about you.”
“Then I shall go about my lawful occasions, whatever that’s supposed to mean. You may take it that I don’t intend to discuss the case with anyone.”
“Thank you, Mrs Stearns,” Megan said meekly.
Jocelyn went off about her lawful occasions and Megan went off to trudge up and down the street, footpaths, and alleyways of Port Mabyn, wielding the victim’s photograph.
Eleanor found a pile of mending waiting to be done and set about sewing a button on one of the Reverend Stearns’ best shirts, hoping her stitches would be neat enough to satisfy her meticulous friend.
Probably not, as her mind kept wandering to the best way to present her story to the inspector.
Megan returned looking gloomy. “I’ve been round half the village and no one admits to ever having seen him. Not that all that many were at home. The inspector’s arrived. We’d better not keep him waiting.”
Leaving Teazle with the vicar, Eleanor was escorted down the hill to her flat.
On the way, several people greeted her and started expressing their sympathy and asking questions.
Some were neighbours; others, wielding notebooks and cameras, were obviously reporters.
Megan hustled her along, repeating “No comment,” and not letting her aunt say anything more than “Good morning.”
Scumble was already in the flat. He had taken Nick’s picture off the wall, exposing the safe.
“Oldest trick in the world,” he grumbled. “I’d have found it in a second if I’d imagined for a moment that you had one. I don’t suppose by any chance you remember the combination?”
Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Eleanor thought, though for Megan’s sake she didn’t say it aloud. “Certainly,” she replied. “It’s—”
“Don’t tell me!” He held up both hands to forestall her revelation. “Just open the blood . . . the blasted thing.”
Eleanor complied. Scumble flashed his torch into the dim recess. Gold gleamed; gems sparkled and glittered in a myriad colours.
“Ye gods!” the inspector exclaimed. “No wonder someone tried to get in last night!”
“He did?” Eleanor was shocked. “What happened? He didn’t get in?”
“I had men watching front and back, hidden. He came down the path at the back. When he stopped at your door, the silly bug—fool posted there tried to jump him and got caught up in a blackthorn bush. “
“Oh dear, I hope he wasn’t too badly scratched.”
“Not badly enough for my liking,” Scumble said grimly. “He swears he didn’t swear aloud, but the intruder obviously heard him and ran off.”
“Megan, you didn’t tell me.”
“I should hope not,” said Scumble, “after I expressly forbade it. And you’re not to say a word either, Mrs Trewynn. I’ve only told you because you live here and you should be on your guard. If I read about it in the local rag—or anywhere else for that matter—”
“They won’t hear it from me,” Eleanor assured him.
“That I can believe. You don’t talk half enough to suit me. How could you forget about this stuff? There’s a fortune in there. If they’re real.”
“They can’t be, surely. Our donors are generous, but . . .” Words failed her.
“Not that generous,” Scumble finished for her.
“Smells pretty fishy, if you ask me. All right, they’ll be safe in there for the moment.
” He closed the door and spun the lock. “They’ll have to be appraised by an expert p.d.q.
Is there a jeweller in the village? And I don’t mean an artsy-craftsy type turning out pretties for the tourists. A real pro.”
“Not in Port Mabyn. I don’t know—I expect you’d have to go to Camelford, or Bodmin, or even Launceston.”
“Pencarrow, get on the radio to HQ and have them ring up Castle Jewellers in Launceston. See if their Mr Hobbes will come out and give this stuff a look-over. Say someone can give him a lift over here if necessary.”
“Yes, sir.” Megan went out.
Her footsteps retreated down the stairs. Without her, the room seemed to shrink, and Scumble’s alarming bulk to take up more space.