Chapter Twelve #2
“Not till last night. And I told Megan—Detective Sergeant Pencarrow—first thing this morning. I would have told you about it sooner, but all the fuss over the jewelry put it out of my mind. And then you obviously didn’t want me to talk about it when Mr Hobbes was here.”
“True,” he conceded grudgingly. “Presumably the murderer took the case, to hide the evidence—afraid he’d left fingerprints, I expect—or even hoping the loot was still in it.
He must have been in a tearing hurry to get away after killing the lad, perhaps too rushed to open it and check.
Having left a body down below, he’ll certainly realise that you’ve had police swarming here, but judging others by himself he might wonder if you’ve concealed the jewels, or some of them, from us. ”
“Mr Scumble!” Eleanor exclaimed, bursting with indignation.
“I’m not suggesting such a thing! And don’t go telling Mrs Stearns I did. I’m just trying to read the mind of a murderous thief. One who knows who you are, or they’d never have put the stuff in the car and come here to retrieve it.”
“You think he might come back again?” She shivered.
“There are plenty of my men around at present, but I’m going to have to persuade Superintendent Bentinck to spare a man or two to keep an eye on the shop for a couple more days at least. We don’t want to scare him off again.
No hiding in blackthorn bushes! Now, back to that briefcase.
If he’s got any sense at all, he’ll have wiped it clean of prints and got rid of it, but we’ll send out a description of it as well as of the jewels.
If it’s found, it might at least give us a clue as to which direction he’s gone.
” He stood up and stared down at the neatly laid-out jewelry.
“Meanwhile, we’ll have to take custody of this lot.
I’ll have someone copy the list and give you a receipt. ”
“How are you going to take it away? You can’t just stuff it in your pockets, after what Mr Hobbes said about damage.”
“No,” he agreed gloomily. “And I’d probably have my pockets picked. Any suggestions?”
“I’ve got a bit of tissue paper. If it’s not enough, Joce is bound to have stacks.” She went to her desk.
“You told Mrs Stearns about the jewelry, you said.”
“Of course. As soon as I remembered it. I was just about to yesterday morning when I found the—the body and it put the jewelry right out of my mind. I told her in the afternoon. It appeared to be a donation, after all. She doesn’t know it’s genuine, though.
” Rummaging in the bottom drawer, she found a whole packet of tissue paper.
“This should do. And Nick next door—the artist?—he has flat crates for shipping pictures. One of the smaller ones might work.”
“The fewer people . . .” His voice trailed off as he saw her face. “That’s right, you already told him. Who else?”
“No one else.”
“And it was he who said you must report it to me.”
“Yes. I did try to tell you last night—”
“And I cut you off. So you reminded me. My sincere apologies, Mrs Trewynn.” He sounded more peeved than sincere. “Is there anything else you feel might be of interest to the police that you’ve had no opportunity to reveal?”
Eleanor’s mind immediately went blank again. “I don’t think so.”
“Well, if anything should happen to occur to you, please let me know immediately, even if it’s two in the morning. Ring Launceston and they’ll get on to me.”
“If you say so,” she agreed, though surely she couldn’t have forgotten anything sufficiently urgent to require waking him in the wee small hours! “When will I be able to move back home?”
“Are you sure you want to?”
“Oh yes. If he comes back again, I’m sure I’ll be safe with your men outside, whether they catch him or scare him off accidentally.”
Scumble scowled. “Whenever you want, then. As soon as I get these sparklers out of your way. I’ll go and make arrangements now. But please don’t go anywhere. I want you to hear what Constable Leacock has to say about that car you claim he must have seen. If he ever turns up.”
Naturally Bob Leacock turned up just when Eleanor had popped up to the vicarage to fetch her things.
On her way back down the hill, after bringing Jocelyn up to date and having a bite to eat, she saw Bob’s panda car parked outside his house.
At least, she thought it must be his. With so many police cars hanging about the village these days, it was hard to be sure.
Teazle at her heels, she hurried on down the street, fending off friends, neighbours, and presumed reporters with a “Sorry, can’t stop. ” She missed Megan’s protective escort.
As she approached the LonStar shop, a bellow echoed from within. “What do you mean, no one’s answering the door? Where’s the bloody woman got to now?” Scumble appeared in the passage doorway. “I told her she’d be needed,” he snarled at the constable on guard. “Where the devil did she go?”
“You didn’t tell me to stop her, sir. She—”
“Oh, there you are, Mrs Trewynn! I was under the impression I’d told you—”
“You told me I could return home, Inspector, so I went to collect the dog and my belongings from the vicarage. You also requested my presence when Constable Leacock reported to you. Here I am.”
Scumble’s mouth opened—and closed tightly on whatever rebuke he’d been about to utter. Bob Leacock and the other uniformed man repressed grins with obvious difficulty. Teazle barked, a puzzled note as if she couldn’t understand why, having arrived home, they were standing on the front step.
“Come in,” Scumble growled. He swung round, tramped back along the passage, and reached for the stockroom door.
“Don’t worry,” Leacock whispered, following Eleanor, “I only just got here.”
She smiled at him over her shoulder. “Won’t you come upstairs, Mr Scumble?” she invited. “We’ll be much more comfortable.”
“The aim of this interview is not to be comfortable!”
But Teazle was already at the top of the stairs, sitting waiting.
Eleanor started up and the inspector came after her, with Bob bringing up the rear.
Their combined tread made Eleanor glad she’d spent a bit extra to have the aged staircase reinforced when she bought the house.
As she reached the top, she felt in her pocket for her keys, only to realise that she’d left them in the keyhole again.
With a bit of fiddling, she did her best to conceal the fact from Mr Scumble.
Either she was successful or he couldn’t be bothered to upbraid her.
He said nothing as she opened the door. Teazle dashed past her ankles and went snuffling around the room.
From her perspective, the place must be full of the fascinating odours of all the strangers who had been messing about in her house since she left.
The humans all sat down, Scumble after an invitation from Eleanor, Leacock with permission from Scumble.
Rather wearily, Eleanor considered offering tea, but by her reckoning she and Jocelyn had by now contributed several gallons to the consumption of the county police force.
Bob Leacock could always get a cup at home after the interrogation.
He might need something stronger if he hadn’t noticed or couldn’t remember the licence plate number of the grey car.
A peremptory knock on the door barely preceded the entrance of Nick Gresham.
“What’s going on, Eleanor? I heard a lot of shouting and reckoned I’d better come and see if you’re in need of protection.
Tut-tut, Officer,” he said to Leacock, “attempting to intimidate a witness? I’d thought better of you. ”
“It wasn’t my voice you heard, Mr Gresham,” Bob assured him gravely, as though they hadn’t played darts together at the Arms every Saturday for years.
“No one’s trying to intimidate anyone, Mr Gresham.” The familiar purple hue started to rise in Scumble’s cheeks. “I merely want Mrs Trewynn’s cooperation in corroborating Constable Leacock’s report.”
“Is that all? I think I’d better just stick around to make sure Mrs Trewynn chooses to cooperate, corroborate, et cetera.” Nick dropped into the one remaining chair, where he lounged very much at ease.
“I suppose it can’t hurt,” Scumble conceded, his propensity for sarcasm once more in evidence. “You know far too much already.”
“I shan’t spill the beans to the reporters, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“As a matter of fact, in this matter we’ll very likely be informing the press ourselves. I shall be obliged, Mrs Trewynn,” continued the inspector with a stern look, “if you will refrain from speaking until I’ve heard Leacock’s story.”
Eleanor nodded but said nothing. Anyone would suppose he had reason to complain of her talking too much, whereas his grievance was that she hadn’t talked enough, or at least not soon enough to please him.
He turned to the constable. “Well?”
“Sorry, sir,” said Bob cheerfully, “but I don’t know what it is you want to know.”
“They didn’t tell you? I told Launceston—”
“I didn’t talk to Launceston direct, sir. My radio’s out of order. Again. Now if you could see your way, sir, to putting in a word—”
“All right, all right! When it reaches the point of impeding a murder investigation . . . But you know they’ll just start carrying on about the budget.” Momentarily the two policemen found themselves in complete agreement.
“Miss Pencarrow and Dawson found me, sir, but they didn’t know what you wanted, ’cepting for me to report in. Bad reception. It’s the terrain, you see, and not enough relay towers.”
“Don’t tell me. You remember seeing Mrs Trewynn the afternoon before the murder was discovered?”
“Hey, what’s all this about?” Nick protested. “You can’t imagine—”
“It’s all right, Nick,” Eleanor assured him. “I told the inspector about it. I wasn’t doing anything remotely sinister.”
“You keep your mouth shut, Mr Gresham, or I’ll change my mind about you staying.” Turning back to the constable, Scumble said testily, “Let’s have an answer quick, Leacock, before there’s any more interruptions.”
Bob gave Eleanor a puzzled look. “Yes, sir. Must’ve been a quarter past four or thereabouts.
Mrs Trewynn had pulled her car into the lay-by where the public footpath goes off to Gorran Head and Pentil Cove.
I stopped to make sure she wasn’t having any trouble with it.
She said she was just going to walk on the cliffs, so I drove on.
It wasn’t more than a minute I stopped.”
“And then?”
“And then I went on, sir, like I said, down the hill. Just my usual rounds.”
“You know your district well, I expect?”
“Pretty well, sir,” said Leacock cautiously, as if he suspected a trap.
“You know or at least can recognise most people?”
“The residents, sir. Most of the regular summer people, after they’ve come down a year or two. But holiday-makers that come down, it may be—”
“I don’t expect the impossible, man! What about cars? You know them as well as you do people?”
“Make and model, sir, and colour. I can’t say as I know all their number plates by heart, but I take note of them that don’t have Cornish registration. What exactly—Oh, would it be about the car that came up the hill just after I saw Mrs Trewynn?”
“That’s the one. Mrs Trewynn didn’t recognise it.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” Eleanor told Nick sotto voce. “I don’t remember anyone’s cars. Even my friends’. They always seem to buy new ones as soon as I’m used to them.”
Leacock thumbed through his notebook. “Here we are, sir. A dark grey Hillman Minx, it was, not well kept up, dent and a bit of rust on the mudguard. Oldish, though I couldn’t give the exact year.” He gave the licence number, however. “London registration.”
Scumble actually smiled. “Good man! Did you notice who was in it?”
“Two in the front, sir, but the sun was shining off the windshield and I can’t say was they male or female, the way some grow their hair these days.” He smoothed his own short crop self-consciously. “I couldn’t describe ’em to save my life, let alone swear to their faces.”
“Never mind. Could there have been more than two? Someone bent over in the backseat, out of sight, perhaps?”
“Well, sir, if they was out of sight, I wouldn’t know. Maybe there was and maybe there wasn’t.”
“All right.” The inspector jumped up, energy renewed.
“At least we’ve got something solid to go on now.
A lead to follow. We can get the owner’s name and start a search for the car.
This is where the press can come in handy.
” He was halfway out of the door before he turned his head to call back over Leacock’s shoulder, “Thanks, Mrs Trewynn.”
As the door shut behind the two policemen, she said tartly to Nick, “Well! If I had further information for him, once again I’d have been cut off before I had a chance to pass it on. Nick, he says the murderer came back last night. You didn’t hear anything?”
“Not a whisper. Earlier I had the Symphonie Fantastique on very loud, as you were away and old Merrick on the other side is deaf as a post. And later I slept like a log after all the excitement of the day. He didn’t manage to break in, I take it.”
“No. There was a policeman on guard who frightened him off.”
“Does Scumble think he might come back again? Why don’t you stay on at the vicarage?”
“Dearly as I love Joce,” Eleanor said guiltily, “I don’t think I can stand it. There will be guards again tonight. I’ll be all right.”