Episode 15 - Finding is not keeping

Wednesday cont.

With only weeks to go before the Spiritual Revue was performed publicly, Dorothy could not skip a rehearsal even for dinner with Roger. She had to keep the peace between the cast and the ambitious and widely disliked stage director and generally supervise the evening. Mr Defoe was not for the first time to be prevented from causing half his cast to walk out. His demonstration walk-outs had always ended with him returning, since he needed the money.

***

As usual, St Peter’s organist, Gareth Morgan, was there to accompany the singing, and this week Robert Jones had invited his drummer friends, who had caused a sensation at their last appearance in a show with Robert at the Civic Hall in Middlethumpton. They would be on hand to liven up the proceedings.

“You can’t force Caribbean drummers on me like this,” Mr Defoe- Drummond complained. “They will be in the way with their ugly steel drums.”

“Yes, I can, Mr Defoe,” said Robert.

“Yes, he can, Daniel,” echoed the whole cast.

“I can’t pay you,” Defoe told the drummers. “Go home!”

“I’m paying,” said Robert.

“Stay!” shouted the cast.

A round of applause and ‘For he’s a jolly good fellow’ followed that dispute. Mr Defoe was disgusted. He knew that if he were to throw out the drummers, Robert, star of the show, would be sure to go with them, and he would find himself out of a job.

Among the cast, there was unified agreement that the only individual in the way was Mr Defoe. Trying to boot out a beautiful steel band was the last straw. To Dorothy’s horror, a vote taken by the cast concluded that they would all be better off without Daniel Defoe- Drummond ‘the devil’. The director was hoisted by his elbows between two swarthy looking male choristers and literally carried out of the church hall, where he was set down and advised never to show his face again.

“Now look what you’ve done,” moaned Dorothy when the two men came back in making thumbs-up signs.

“The show will be better off without him,” the cast agreed, making a great fuss of the drummers and proceeding to show that what they could do without a stage director would be infinitely better than with ‘the devil’s’ interference.

Dorothy had to accept the situation and as if some miracle had happened the rehearsal was brilliant.

“We only have two more Wednesdays,” she announced as they all prepared to go home. “Don’t be late, will you? The performances will be on the 19^th and 20^th of April and we’ve already sold nearly all the tickets so we might have to do it all again.”

Later, watching Al Capone at home with less critical attention than usual, Dorothy decided that everything would be all right. Even Robert Jones had seemed elated, and that was a seldom occurrence these days. The drummers were a godsend, the late vicar would have said.

***

The dinner party at Cleo’s cottage was a great success, even if it was mainly small-talk that was bandied around. No ultimate conclusion was reached about anything except the exceptional quality of the rump steaks.

Brass had been full of his new job and the incredible things he had been told by people reporting trivial and only too often petty and spiteful incidents that they thought were police matters. As arranged, Brass or whoever was in charge ordered a patrol team whenever needed, and things were going well if you did not call it trivial when a patrol team that had been called out to attend some drama or other found itself obliged to act as midwives, baby-sitters, dog-walkers or marriage counsellors. People also came into the office with stray animals, mainly dogs, and sometimes several at once, which invariably resulted in pandemonium.

“This is not a vet’s practice,” Brass would protest. But he had to confess that he was good with animals and had been obliged to give sanctuary to one or two. In fact, one budgerigar had never been collected.

“You’ve only been going for a day or two,” said Roger. “Don’t let people take advantage of your good nature, Brass!”

“I’ll manage if no human decides to stay the night! I can take most pets home, but I do draw the line at rats, some of which were brought in because the parents wanted to be rid of them before their rat enthusiast of a daughter came home from school.”

“So what did you do, Brass?” they all wanted to know.

“I told them to take them home and release them in the garden accidentally,” he said. “Or take them to the pet shop and leave them on the doorstep.”

***

Brass thought that the locals were enjoying the novelty of having somewhere else to go. He hoped that these first days were not a hint of what was to come. After all, a real crime had not been on his report list yet and he was consequently quite looking forward to one or two.

In the meantime, it was clear that the little sub-police station could remain closed at night as long as the phone linked the office to Brass or one of his colleagues in case something untoward really did happen.

If Brass had not been such an amusing dinner guest when he got going with his dry tales, Roger Stone might have thought the sub-police station was, viewed critically, superfluous, but he reasoned with himself that it had to be given a try. It was only a matter of time before things got more criminal. He wasn’t wishing for that to happen, but it would confirm the need for a sub-police station,  wouldn’t it? He communicated those thoughts when Gary went out with him to his car.

He also expressed the hope that the French police would soon have news. He would contact Europol early next morning.

“Cleo would want me to invite you to our wedding, but I’ve done that already, haven’t I?” said Gary.

“Of course. I’ll be there,” said Roger.

“You might like to meet my mother, Roger. I’m sure she’ll enjoy meeting you.”

“Something else to look forward to,” said Roger.

***

 “I agree,” said Cleo when Gary repeated Roger’s words. “I need a good night’s sleep with the rest of the week fully booked.”

“So do I, my love.”

As usual, when the guests had gone home, Cleo and Gary rounded off the day with coffee. There were so many things to talk about that had not been mentioned at the dinner, since Roger did not need to know everything yet, and neither did Brass, who had spiced up the entertainment no end, much to Gary’s surprise.

“I’m glad you invited Brass,” said Gary.

“He looked so forlorn behind his counter, Gary.”

“He always looks like that.”

“But did you see how he perked up when he was telling those stories?” said Cleo. “He’s a great dinner guest. I’m amazed that the girls slept all through that laughter at the table,” said Cleo.

“Charlie was glad to go to bed and contented just to have had supper with the grownups,” said Gary. “We were rather loud, weren’t we? I didn’t know Brass had it in him to be so comical.”

“Cheryl Archer is going to track down Polly and her friend Steve Foster; maybe she did so this evening.”

“I take it that she is your new sleuth.”

“Good timing, too. Thanks to Colin for suggesting her. I can’t send Dorothy to a disco and I can hardly go myself. I really wanted Cheryl to go tomorrow night, but she rang to say she had an extra shift tonight and I told her to go ahead with her mission.”

“Isn’t Polly a bit old for a disco?”

“Not if she’s messing around with very young men.”

***

Cheryl Archer already knew who Steve Foster was, since the lads tended to prop up the bar until they had found a girl to latch on to. She planned to get into conversation with him as soon as he entered the disco, usually round about eleven, but on Wednesday evening he was not alone.

Cheryl phoned Cleo immediately to ask what she should do next.

“I was afraid that would happen,” Cleo told her. “I can’t very well send the police in to get Polly out, though they want to talk to her.”

“So you think it must be her, do you?” said Cheryl. “She’s certainly older than the average girl here. Can you send me a photo of her to check.”

It was not long before Cheryl got back to Cleo. Gary listened attentively to the call through the speaker.

“It is her,” said Cheryl. “She’s definitely with Steve Foster and I don’t think I’m going to get any nearer as long as he’s so wrapped up in her.”

“Considering she jilted him for the guy who was stabbed, that is remarkable. Young men usually cut their losses. Does he have contact with anyone else, Cheryl?”

“One or two lads about his age are coming up to him. I think they are quite impressed that he is with someone older and probably more experienced. He has an arm round her buttocks and Polly does not seem to mind, so the young men never get a chance to talk to her alone. Foster is being very protective.”

“Or possessive. Jealous men are,” said Cleo. “Can you find a way of talking to those young men?”

“I’ll try,” said Cheryl. “I’m serving drinks at the moment, but I get a break soon and can wander around a bit.”

“OK. Good luck and let me know how you get on.”

“OK.”

***

“Polly Spencer can’t be more than about 20 and she counts as old,” said Gary. “I think I’ll send in a razzia and check how many girls are underage at that joint. I expect they also get their fair share of rum and coke.”

“We should concentrate on Polly,” said Cleo. “Hardly has her lover been stabbed in her presence than she is at a disco flirting with the guy she jilted. Cold-blooded, don’t you think?”

Cleo told Gary that she had the impression that Polly was not as naïve or innocent as she had seemed. Cheryl’s task was to keep an eye on Steve Foster. It was a bonus that he had turned up with Polly. Pinning down the girl in the company of Steve Foster was a huge step forward since it ratified what Cleo had been thinking, that Polly had latched on to Ali for reasons that went beyond sex, she said. It was a form of social climbing. Sleeping with her employer’s bedfellow was an achievement in itself, especially if Ali had made her promises.

Gary was impressed by Cleo’s argumentation, but glad she was not planning to keep it up all night. Cleo had an iron constitution, but he as dead beat and his duvet was calling so loudly that he had to creep under it without further delay.

“At least you warmed the duvet,” she said when she finally decided it was late enough.

“My duvet.”

“I’ll just borrow a corner, shall I?” said Cleo.

“We’ll have to get a double one,” said Gary. “Fighting for the warm bits is undignified.”

“I’m not fighting,” said Cleo. “You can join me.”

“Thanks a million!” said Gary. “I’m here already.”

“Are you going to be as bashful when we are married, Gary?”

“I’ve never been called bashful before. I thought only kids were bashful.”

By this time they were both laughing so hard over their tug of war with Gary’s duvet that a sleepy Charlie came in to see what it was all about.

“Mummy is hogging my duvet,” said Gary.

“I’ll lend you mine,” said Charlie.

“Thanks, Sweetheart,” said Gary, “but Cleo has a duvet of her own.”

”This one?” said Charlie, picking up the edge of the duvet that had slipped onto the floor.

“Thanks, Charlie. I’ll come and tuck you into your bed, shall I?” said Gary.

“You haven’t got any clothes on, Daddy.”

“I’ll borrow Cleo’s kimono.”

Back in her bed, Charlie told her father that he was getting silly.

“I know. It’s because I’m happy,” he told the little girl.

“I’m happy, too,” said Charlie, thoughtfully. “Cleo is the best Mummy I have ever had. And you are my best Daddy. Much better than my other Mummy’s horrible friend in Spain.”

“But Robert was nice, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, he is nice and he likes hamburgers, but no one loves me like you and Mummy do.”

“It’s because we love each other,” Gary explained. “Like you and PeggySue.”

“Loving people makes you soft and warm inside,” said Charlie, now very sleepy indeed.

“Good night, Sweetheart. Sweet dreams!” said Gary, before planting a kiss on Charlie’s forehead, stroking PeggySue’s cheek and returning to his own bed.

“Do you know what Charlie said?” Gary whispered.

“I’d like to,” said Cleo. “Why don’t you come a bit nearer and tell me?”

“Do you feel soft and warm inside, Cleo?”

“I suppose I do. Why do you ask?”

“Because that is Charlie’s definition of love.”

“And she’s right. Lying here in your arms is the serenest feeling of happiness I’ll ever know, except for that soft, warm feeling I have when I hold my children close,” said Cleo.

“I can live with that because I feel the same,” said Gary. “It’s as if I’ve come home.”

“You have, Sweetheart,” said Cleo, and lay awake for some time while her sometimes quite tough cop slept like a baby.

***

At three in the morning there was a knock on the door. Gary was immediately wide awake.

“Were you expecting someone, Cleo?” he said.

“Just one or two more lovers,” replied Cleo sleepily.

“Well, that’s all right then. You can go to the door,” Gary said, and buried himself in an available duvet.

The knock was heard again, stronger this time.

“Get it, Gary. I’m pregnant.”

“So it isn’t one of your lovers?”

“My what?”

“Lovers. That’s who you said it was.”

“I was dreaming,” said Cleo.

“Some dream!” retorted Gary, wrapping himself in the other available duvet and making for the front door. He had no idea what he was expecting to see, but certainly not Polly, shivering from the night air and looking very distressed in her glittery disco regalia with its bare midriff.

***

“Polly! What are you doing here?” said Gary. Cleo heard that and threw on her kimono hastily before rushing into the hall.

“I’ll take care of this,” she said, ushering the girl into the living-room. “Sit down, Polly.”

“I don’t know what to do, Miss Hartley.”

“Tell me what’s up and I’ll try to help you.”

Polly hesitated for some time before she held up a teacloth wrapped like a parcel. “Can Mr Hurley take this?” she asked, and Gary, now dressed in his jogging outfit, heard his name and came rushing back into the room.

“What is it, Polly?” he asked, accepting the object.

“It’s a knife, Sir,” the girl said.

“Did you touch it?”

“No, Sir.”

“Where did you find it?” Cleo asked gently.

Gary was too brusque with the girl.

“At the back of the drainer under the sink in the kitchen, Miss,” Polly explained. “I just wanted to do the washing up I’d left, as Vivienne had not come home and done it.”

“Vivienne?” asked Gary.

“My stepmother.”

“Do you know how long it has been there, Polly?” Gary asked.

“No, Sir. I only open that side of the cupboard if I need new dish-washer liquid. But the new bottle was wedged behind the drainpipe and I had to pull at it. Then that teacloth dropped down. It gave me such a fright, Sir,” Polly finished and burst into tears.

“So you unrolled it, did you?”

“It unrolled itself, Miss.”

“Do you usually wash up at two in the morning, Polly,” Gary wanted to know.

“No Sir, but I had promised to clear up before going to bed.”

“Did you go out?”

“Yes, Sir. To the disco.”

“What did you do next, Polly?” Gary asked.

“I went home,” said the girl.

“Alone?”

“Yes… I mean no.”

“With Mr Foster?” said Cleo.

“No. I mean yes.”

“But you did not go to the crypt, did you?” said Gary.

“No… I mean yes to the little hut round the back.”

“Did you have sex there, Polly?” said Cleo.

Polly nodded faintly and looked stricken.

“Did Mr Foster then take you home?” Gary asked.

”Yes.”

“Why didn’t you have sex in your warm bed, Polly?” Cleo asked.

“Steve didn’t want to.”

It was obvious to Cleo and Gary that Polly was not telling the whole truth, but she should be allowed to continue in that vein if she thought it would help her.

“So what did you do after you found the knife, Polly?” Gary asked, wondering just how brazen someone could be whose lover had been stabbed on top of her the night before she went to the disco.

“I took the bundle up to my bedroom and had another look at it.”

“Without touching the knife?”

“Yes, Sir. No, Sir.”

“I’m sure this is congealed blood, Cleo,” said Gary, bringing the knife closer for her to inspect. Gary was careful not to touch it directly.

Polly started to howl.

“We’ll get it examined,” said Gary.

Cleo wondered some more about Polly’s true character. Could what she said all be lies?

“What’s to become of me, Sir?”

“Nothing, unless I’m very much mistaken,” said Gary, wrapping the knife in its tea-towel before getting a large plastic bag from the kitchen to pack it into.

“Are you sure that Steve Foster took you home, after you’d been to the crypt, Polly?” Cleo asked.

“How do you know about the crypt, Miss Hartley? We were in the hut.”

“Mr Hurley saw you on the steps of the crypt a night ago” said Cleo. “You ran away. That’s how we know you were at the crypt, Polly.”

“But I didn’t go back there, honest,” said Polly.

“That doesn’t surprise me, Polly” said Cleo. ”I would not return to a place where my lover had been stabbed while he was making love to me.”

“We went to the hut, Miss.”

“You and Steve went to the hut, Polly. You and Ali were in the crypt when Ali was stabbed. It did not take you long to recover, did it?” said Gary.

“I always go to the disco on Wednesdays,” said Polly. “Steve would have missed me and asked questions.”

“Mr Foster was your boyfriend before Ali Lewis got interested, wasn’t he?” Gary asked.

“Ali was an affair; Steve is my boyfriend.”

“I’ll keep the knife, Polly. You should go home now,” said Gary.

“I can’t go home. Vivienne will hear me coming in and ask questions – if she’s there, that is.”

“Surely she’s in her bed asleep,” said Cleo.

“She’s in somebody’s bed and she won’t be asleep,” said Polly.

“You don’t like your step-mother, do you Polly?” Cleo said.

“No. She moved into my Mum’s bed before she was even under the ground.”

“Were you back home from the seaside then, Polly?”

“Only just, Miss.”

“I expect you have a good reason for disliking your step-mother, don’t you?” said Cleo.

“Yes. I’m scare of her. She could …” Polly broke off and bit her lip. “I can’t say.”

“Whatever’s bothering you, we can help, you know.” said Gary. “Tell my wife if you don’t want to tell me.”

“I haven’t done nothing wrong,” said Polly.

“Why don’t stay the night here and we’ll talk about whatever is troubling you tomorrow?” said Cleo. “You can sleep on the sofa. It’s comfortable.”

“Thank you, Miss.”

“Why are you afraid of your step-mother, Polly?” Gary asked, and Cleo frowned. It was too soon to ask, but Gary persisted. “Tell us why!”

“I can’t,” said Polly.  

“Leave it now, Gary,” Cleo interrupted. “You can see that Polly is tired. We’ll talk in the morning, won’t we, Polly?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“You won’t run away, will you?” Gary said.

“No Sir. I feel safe here.”

Gary helped Cleo to make up a bed for Polly and within minutes she was fast asleep, cuddling the soft toy that PeggySue had left behind earlier.

Gary looked in on his sleeping daughters, planted kisses on their foreheads, thanked his lucky stars for his lovely family, and went back to bed. Cleo sat at the dining table for a while and thought about what had just happened. Why was Polly afraid of her step-mother? She would question Polly intensively when they had all had a few hours’ sleep. What did the girl know? Why did her answers seem to contradict one another?

***

But it did not come to that. When Gary got up to see to PeggySue, Polly had gone.