Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
As Alec was leaving the Yard, he heard Tom Tring’s voice and glanced into the room he was passing.
“Tom!”
“Hello, Chief. I just popped in for a chat.”
The officer with whom he was chatting developed a sudden diligent interest in the papers on his desk.
DS Tom Tring, retired, came out into the passage, closing the door behind him.
His huge bulk was clad in one of his more subdued suits, a dark grey and forest green check.
The bald dome of his head was as shiny as ever and his face no longer had the greyish tinge of permanent tiredness it had worn his last few weeks in the force.
“It’s good to see you, Tom. Can’t stay away from the old place?”
“Retiring’s harder than you’d think, for both me and the missus. She’s got her ways, and I try to stay out from under her feet.”
“I expect it will grow easier with time. Most things do.”
“I haven’t got enough to do, that’s the beginning and end of it. You know how it is on the job, Chief. You can’t start an allotment garden or join a bowling team or suchlike because you may be called away any moment. How are my godson and Miss Miranda?”
“Flourishing. You and Mrs. Tring must come and see them one of these days.”
“Any time. And give my best to Miss Belinda when Mrs. Fletcher writes to her at school.”
“I write to Bel, too!”
“But not as often, I bet. I know who writes most letters in my family, and it isn’t the men. What are you working on these days?”
“A murder in Bucks. I found the body, which has complicated matters. I’m sort of officially unofficial on the case.”
“Ah. Mrs. Fletcher involved, by any chance?”
“Well, yes.”
Tom grinned. “Ah!”
“You know, I was thinking about you last night. What we needed was someone not obviously a cop to mingle in the public bar. Come to that,” he added thoughtfully, “we still do. Also someone to chat with servants in hope of tracing a gardener and a maid. But no, that wouldn’t be at all according to Cocker. ”
“Come on, Chief, you can’t dangle the carrot and then whip it away! Unofficial, you said. What could be more unofficial than me and the missus taking a little holiday in the country? Wouldn’t it be a coincidence if we ended up in the same place as you and Mrs. Fletcher?”
Alec’s turn to grin: “I can’t stop you, Tom. We’re at Beaconsfield—pretty country. Come on up to the office—no, better not.”
“Too official-looking?”
“Much too. It’s just on opening time; let’s go over to the Feathers. I’ll buy you a pint and explain the situation.”
* * *
When Alec and Ernie Piper reached the Saracen’s Head, Sally Hedger was at the reception desk.
“Mrs. Fletcher isn’t back from London yet, sir,” she said to Alec. “You’re staying on?”
“For the present. I’m not sure how long.”
“I’ll see if you’re still in the book.” She opened the big ledger. “No, Mr. Whitford wrote you down as checked out. Here’s your key. And Mr…?”
“Piper,” said Ernie. “Ernest Piper, Detective Sergeant, miss. I don’t know how long I’ll be staying neither, sorry. Likely as long as Mr. Fletcher.”
“I’ll put you in Twelve, Mr. Piper, next to the Fletchers.” Sally smiled at him. “Stay as long as you want. You’re from London, too?”
“That’s right.”
“I’ll see the Boots takes up your bags, gentlemen. By the way, Mr. Fletcher, Inspector Underwood has set up at the police station today. It’s just down the road. Turn left outside the door and go on round the corner into Windsor End.”
“Thanks.”
“Miss Sutcliffe spent half the morning there. Mr. Underwood asked her not to see Auntie May about cleaning the cellar till after he’s talked to her.”
“Miss Hedger, I know you sometimes help your aunt. Please don’t offer to do so on this occasion.”
“Is it as nasty as they’re saying, then?”
“Who’s saying?”
“Everyone, but it was Sergeant Harris as started it.”
“Today?”
“No, sir, last night, like I told the inspector. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him today.”
“Good,” Alec said grimly, hoping Underwood had put the sergeant firmly in his place.
“It’s quite as nasty as anything I’ve ever seen.
Stay away. If my wife comes in before I return, please tell her I’ll be at the police station.
” He almost added, “and she’s not to join me,” but decided that was carrying familiarity a bit too far.
As he and Ernie turned left into Windsor End, Ernie said, “That young woman seems to know a lot about our business.”
“Rumours have been flying, as you heard, but more to the point, Daisy has taken a liking to her.”
“I see.”
“Sally was very good to Daisy when she was ill.” Alec tried not to sound defensive.
“Well, that’s different then, isn’t it.” Ernie had always been a staunch admirer and defender of Daisy, even after he at last realised that she wasn’t always right. “A nice young woman. Miss Sutcliffe is not the lady Mrs. Fletcher was at school with, right?”
“Right. She’s the one who runs the household. But they’re all Daisy’s friends now.”
“If that isn’t Mrs. Fletcher all over! This is an odd position we’re in, and no mistake, being unofficial. What are you going to do if this DI Underwood starts ordering you about, Chief, and telling you to do things you don’t agree with?”
Alec had told Ernie all the facts of the case, but hadn’t attempted to explain his tenuously amicable relationship with the local man. “Let’s not borrow trouble,” he temporised. “Here we are.”
Beaconsfield’s police station was an ugly brick building that also housed the magistrate’s court.
DI Underwood had appropriated a good-sized room with a couple of desks.
He was the sole occupant, seated at one of the desks, gloomily reading the top page of a neat pile.
When Alec and Ernie entered, he sprang up.
“Chief Inspector, glad to have you back, sir.” He looked enquiringly at Ernie.
“DS Piper, my right-hand man. Superintendent Crane suggested he might be of assistance.”
“Happy to meet you, Sergeant.”
“Likewise, sir.” They shook hands. “I hope I can help.”
Underwood waved them to a couple of rather battered wooden chairs and sat down on a similar one behind the desk. “The two of you have doubled my detective force, though I have a few PCs and a uniform sergeant at my disposal.”
“Not Sergeant Harris, I hope,” said Alec.
“Lord, no! My super gave him what-for for gossiping and he’s lying low.
Sergeant Levin and his men are talking to neighbours who weren’t at home when they called yesterday or this morning.
They’ll try the shops on Station Road, too.
You never know, someone may have seen her with an identifiable companion, or been given an address to forward a final account. ”
“Delivery people may even be able to put a date to her demise—or departure. Any luck with the neighbours?”
“So far, nothing. With those damned high hedges all along the street, nosy neighbours are scarce! Not one of the residents of Orchard Road admits to having been better acquainted with Mrs. Gray than to say good morning.”
“Too soon to give up,” Ernie observed cheerfully. “You never know what they’ll remember with a bit of digging.”
“True, Sergeant. Maybe I’ll set you onto them.
Two or three did say they think she’s spent a good deal of time in London since her husband died.
So far we haven’t found a local doctor or dentist. They’re cagy about giving information about their patients on the telephone, so DC Pennicuik called on all the Beaconsfield practitioners—both, rather, one of each.
Dr. Barnes was her husband’s practitioner, but not hers.
I sent Pennicuik to High Wycombe to make the rounds there.
If she went to a London doctor or dentist, though…
” Underwood looked thoroughly discouraged.
“Her dentist could be all-important,” said Alec. “Dental records may be the only way to get a positive identification of the victim. Have you seen her lawyer yet? He’s in Beaconsfield, isn’t he?”
“Mr. Ainsley, yes.” The inspector glanced at the wall clock.
Standing, he took his hat from the knob of his chair.
“I’ve got an appointment with him in fifteen minutes.
He was away for the weekend, his secretary told me, and wasn’t expected back till after lunch.
You’ll come with me, won’t you, Mr. Fletcher?
Solicitors are always tricky to deal with and he might be a bit more forthcoming to a high-ranking Scotland Yard man. ”
“I’ll come. In the meantime, I suggest Piper go through those reports you have there. He’s a demon for spotting easy-to-overlook details.”
“Go right ahead, Sergeant. I wish you better luck than I’ve had.”
A chilly breeze from the north had arisen.
As Alec and Underwood passed the Saracen’s Head, Alec was tempted to drop in to find out whether Daisy had returned already.
But Underwood was walking briskly, so he resisted temptation.
They crossed the main road, and continued down Aylesbury End towards Station Road and the new town.
The thought of Daisy reminded him of her inexplicable errand. “Was Mrs. Gray a churchgoer?” he asked.
“I don’t think so. The pastor of the Congregational was sure she’d never attended his services. The rector of St. Mary’s wasn’t at home when I called, but his wife was pretty sure Mrs. Gray wasn’t a member of the congregation, even on an occasional basis.”
“The rector is the Reverend Mr. Turnbull? I … uh … I ought to tell you that he was picked up at Marylebone station this morning by my wife. Don’t ask me why. I haven’t the slightest idea.”
“She wouldn’t tell you why?” Underwood asked, disbelieving.
“She told me on the phone, said she was in a hurry, and hung up before I could ask.”
“You wouldn’t have mentioned it if you didn’t think it’s something to do with the case.”