Monday
After phoning Cleo very early on Monday morning, Gary forced
himself to go to HQ and concentrate on his job. It would include interviewing a
Mr Mortimer, though it was not quite clear which brother the French police had
sent while he was becoming the father of four.
***
Nigel, his stalwart personal assistant, was sure Gary was
not fit for work, but he did not say anything. Though Gary was a friendly guy these
days, he could be unpredictable. Lack of sleep and the emotional turmoil were -
Nigel said – “eating him”.
Do you want me to take notes, Gary?” he ventured.
“Yep, but get the electronics going, Nigel. I can’t read
your handwriting.”
“It’s shorthand, Gary, and you don’t have to read it.”
“Where did you learn that sort of gobbledygook?”
“At evening school. I thought it might come in handy.”
“And is it?”
“To be honest, sometimes I can’t even read it myself.”
Gary laughed. Nigel was a bit of a card. Gary’s reaction
made Nigel laugh. Greg came in and found himself laughing, too.
“Are you guys drunk?” he asked.
“Oops. Not yet!” said Nigel. “But I’ve got a bottle with me.
We could wet the babies’ heads.”
“You are right, Nigel. We must wet the babies’ heads,” said
Gary.
“It’s fatherhood with a vengeance, Nigel,” said Greg.
“I’ll have to second that,” said Gary.
“I thought you liked the idea of a houseful of kids,” said
Nigel.
“I’m actually over the moon, Nigel. I can recommend it.”
“Don’t bother,” said Nigel. “I’m not into child-bearing.”
He opened the fizzy wine and filled whisky glasses he had
retrieved from one of Gary’s filing cabinets.
“So what else is on the menu this morning?” Greg wanted to
know.
“First of all we are going to celebrate Nigel’s apparent
aversion to fatherhood and my success at it, Greg.”
“That’s a good way to start the week,” praised Greg.
“I can’t drink all this, Nigel,” protested Gary.
“Just a sip, Gary, it’s almost alcohol-free,” said Nigel. “Do
you want me to get Mortimer in?”
“All in good time. What sort of impression did he make?”
“Arrogant. Quite nasty. Could be on the defensive.”
“That sounds ominous but not surprising. Tell me more!”
“I’m not entirely sure that the French police knew who they
were looking for, so they have bequeathed us the first available Mortimer,”
reported Nigel. “I understand that the one we have here is having all his meals
brought in from the Grand Hotel, so I suppose his cash flow is better than
mine.”
“Drugs provide a good income for those who get away with
smuggling,” Greg commented.
“Or he just owns the factory,” said Gary.
“We’ll have to ask him nicely,” Nigel said. “The two
Mortimers are identical twins according to the initial report.”
“I’m not going to name mine after them,” said Gary.
“I wasn’t suggesting that,” said Nigel. “But if they look
alike, one might impersonate the other.”
“You sound like Cleo, Nigel,” said Greg. “Don’t make things
more complicated than they already are.”
“That impersonation thing is one of the Hartley Agency
hobbyhorses,” said Gary.
“I’m not averse to it myself,” said Nigel, “Slipping into
someone else’s skin is liberating.”
“In other words, the Hartley Agency is not to be underestimated,”
said Greg.
“We knew that already, didn’t we, Gary?” said Nigel, who
could remember some rather negative comments Gary had made about amateur
investigators in the old days.
Gary ignored that remark. In retrospect, his conduct had
been less than gentlemanly and more than unjust.
“Let’s get the guy in and ask him who he is. I’m sorry Cleo
has no time to be here,” said Gary, riding over the issue of the Hartley Agency,
“because it is a fact, and often at my expense, that those Ladies never miss a
twitch. Fortunately, I’m fetching Cleo and our new sons home this afternoon, so
I can at least get her opinion on things.”
“You rely on her a lot these days, don’t you?” said Nigel.
“Yes, I do, to be honest,” said Gary. “Cleo seems to have a
nose for evildoers, but so does Dorothy. In fact, if I didn’t love them both,
I’d think they were witches!”
“You can still love them even if they are witches,” said
Nigel. He and Greg were amused by Gary’s forthrightness, but the larking around
was brought to an abrupt end when Mortimer was presently brought in, handcuffed
and furious.
***
Nigel removed the prosecco bottle and glasses, but not in
time to avoid Mortimer’s comment that they did not booze on Monday mornings in
his office.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” said Gary, wisely ignoring the
comment. “We were wetting my new dons’ heads.”
“I suppose that’s allowed,” retorted Mortimer.
He ordered the police escort to remove the cuffs.
“I should damn well think so,” said Mortimer.
“For the record, who are you?” said Gary.
Nigel thought he would stick to longhand. The guy was smarmy
and spoke slowly enough to write everything down in a script he could read.
“Which one do you want?”
“Both, actually,” said Gary. “Are you James Mortimer?”
“That’s what my passport says,” replied Mortimer.
“But you could be John Mortimer taking your brother’s place,
couldn’t you?”
“Could I?” said Mortimer. “Why would I do that?
“Because a charge of triple homicide is in the offing, Mr
Mortimer.”
“Who am I supposed to have murdered?”
“Your wife and her two children.”
Mortimer paled.
“How did they die,” Mortimer said.
“Shot at close quarters,” said Gary.
Mortimer was shocked, but he at pains not to show it.
“That lets me out then. I don’t shoot people, Officer. I
expect to be released and flown home at your expense today. I have a company to
run.”
“Let’s assume for a moment that you are in fact John
Mortimer. Did you kill your wife and her two boys?” said Gary, using the shock
tactic he had learnt from Cleo. It usually had the desired effect.
“I am not John,” said Mortimer indignantly.
“If you are John and you met your brother James in Dijon a
few days ago, you might have been seeking refuge, a place to hide out,” said
Gary.
“I don’t see much of John.”
“But you trade in toy trains, Mr Mortimer. You have a business
arrangement, whichever brother you are. I am assuming for the moment that you
are James.”
Mortimer reacted in a way that Gary thought was plausible.
Cleo would have been less gullible.
“I don’t know all my customers, and I don’t know when all
the reps come and go, either.”
“But you must know about your brother’s activities, and he
yours.”
“He goes his way and I go mine. I don’t spend my days in the
packing department,” said Mortimer, “and I don’t take pot shots at relatives, so
if that’s all you have to say to me, I would like to get home today.”
“You cannot go until we know for sure who you are, Mr
Mortimer.”
“I’ve told you often enough. I am James Mortimer. I own and
manage a toy factory in Dijon. You have examined my documents and you have no
reason to keep me here.”
“Documents can get into the wrong hands, Mr Mortimer.”
“You’d have to prove that, wouldn’t you?”
“So it’s provable, is it?”
“I did not say that. Don’t twist my words round, Officer.”
“To be quite sure we are not holding an innocent person, I
am going to tell the Dijon police to look around your factory. That might
produce interesting results.”
“What do you expect
to find? A corpse?”
“Is there one to find, Mr Mortimer?” Gary retorted.
“You don’t seriously think I would leave a corpse lying around,
do you?”
“I think it’s possible, so you will go back to your cell for
the time being.”
Cleo would have said Gary’s whole questioning was flawed and
based on pure speculation.
“Take him away!” Gary told the escort.
***
When Mortimer was out of earshot, Nigel could not resist asking
what Gary was he was hoping the French police would find.
“I’d like to know if it as John Mortimer who killed his wife
and kids.,” said Gary. “Someone killed those poor people. I wish we were sure
which Mortimer we have here, Nigel, and that doesn’t not make him a killer.
2At the risk of doing a Dorothy, I say we should look for
the motive,” said Nigel.
“I agree. All we know up to now is that the guy who lived at
27 Lilac Way was named John,” said Gary. ”Let’s wait and see what else the
French police turn up, shall we? I’m now indulging in the kind of speculation I
usually leave to Dorothy.”
“But you think John might have killed his family, fled to
France, done away with his brother and taken his place, don’t you” Nigel conjectured.
“That would make this guy John, despite the passport saying he is James.”
“Great stuff, Nigel,” said Greg who had been an observer in the
questioning. “We’ll make a detective of you yet.”
“I’d rather be an assistant.”
“Think of the future, Nigel.”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing, Greg.”
“I suppose you are serious about getting the toy factory
searched, are you, Gary?”
“Yes, Greg, there’s no way round that. We’ll have to wait.”
“What do you want to wait for, Gary?” Nigel asked. “Go
yourself!”
“I’ve just become a father again. I can’t leave my brand new
sons to their own devices.”
“Of course you can. Cleo would want you to,” said Greg.
“Cleo needs me, too,” said Gary, bringing that discussion to an
abrupt end. “I’d like that transcript of the questioning printed, Nigel. Cleo will
want to read it.”
Nigel moved to his laptop. Gary opened one of the other files in
his current cases.
“Spencer next,” he announced.
***
“What are you going to ask him?” Greg wanted to know. “I
thought you had decided he was innocent. I was surprised that he was to be
detained for further questioning.”
“I jumped the guns. He does not have a clean slate and we
are going to have to tidy up his past.”
“Not the present? What are you referring to?” said Greg.
“Polly was abducted and came home again, but her parents’
marriage was on the rocks. Mr Spencer had become a client of a call-girl named
Vivienne. She was thrown out of her flat, possibly because of the trade she was
pursuing. Mr Spencer saw his chance and invited her to live in his house.
Vivienne decided it was a cosy pad and persuaded the infatuated Spencer to
dispose of his wife with her. The wife obliged by trying to take her own life
with sleeping pills, so Vivienne and Mr Spencer only had to finish the job.
Then Vivienne married Spencer, but continued with her prostitution on the side.
Spencer was possibly unaware of the woman’s extramural activities and thought
he was on cloud nine, but I think he found out in due course.”
“Murdered the first wife, in other words,” said Greg.
”You saw Vivienne Spencer enter that hotel with a man, Greg.
There’s enough evidence – for instance the guy’s wallet was found in Viv’s
bedroom - to prove that killing, and
we’ll soon get the murder of the first Mrs Spencer lain at her door.”
“I went home after stalking her to the hotel,” said Greg. “Mrs
Spencer’s double life is her concern. Of course, I had no idea what she was
really up to. Prostitutes go in and out of that hotel every night, but I don’t
suppose they are all into theft and murder.”
“Some are,” said Gary.
“Nasty,” said Nigel.
“You might say they do a roaring trade in bed-letting.”
“Very nasty, Nigel,” said Gary, “especially the pun.”
“Vivienne was an accomplice in the murder of the first Mrs Spencer,
if not the brains. She and Spencer were in it together. And by the way, a night
porter saw her leaving the hotel and did not report it because she gave him her
usual large tip not to say anything. Even the poshest hotels have their share
of sleaze among both the guests and the staff and a night porter can improve
his income considerably by accepting handouts for his discretion.”
“What about the security cameras?” said Nigel.
“No harm in checking them. The spoils of Mrs Spencer’s
nightly excursions to hotels are stored under the bed in her bedroom. They
might be a clue to other murders done in the same style. She has confessed to
her affair with Ali, which is her euphemistic way of saying he was a client. He
possibly blackmailed her, in which case she might have killed him to avoid her double
life being revealed.”
“What about the evidence supporting the first Mrs Spencer’s
demise?”
“The post mortem stated that she had committed suicide. The
corpse was released and Vivienne saw too it that the body was cremated like
thousands of others who met their death through unsuspected and thus unproven intervention,
often by relatives.”
“Is intervention spelt with a ‘t’?” Nigel asked.
“Two ‘t’s, Nigel.”
“What kind of intervention are you thinking of?” Greg asked.
“The sleeping pills that the first Mrs Spencer swallowed in
a large quantity would indicate – if that is true, of course - that she was actually trying to commit suicide and may have
managed it on her own. But a hooker and her infatuated beau put the unconscious
woman in the bath and slit her wrists. I presume that Spencer thought she would
drown anyway, so the slit wrists were an optional extra, but no water was found
in her lungs so she did not drown. I think we’ll find that the first Mrs
Spencer was not already dead when she was put in that bathtub, Greg, but the
killers did not know that she would have died anyway from half a bottle of
sleeping pills. The murder was gratuitous.”
“As far as I can make out, there was no suspicion, which I
think is monstrous given the evidence.”
According to the report it was just a normal suicide case. The coroner decided and that was that. On to
the next victim.”
“So who was in charge of the investigation?” Greg, a newcomer
to the Middlethumpton force.
“Roger, I suppose,” said Gary. “He must also have been convinced
by the evidence of suicide. It was just before I came to the homicide squad.”
“How long ago was it?”
“Recently, but don’t forget that the corpse had been
cremated.“
“Despite any obvious evidence, such as the cutting aid?”
“I would have asked where the tool was that she must have
used to slit her wrists, but no one did. Roger slipped up badly there,” said
Gary.
“So she sleepwalked to the bathroom, got in the bathtub and
slit her wrists with an implement that was not found,” said Greg.
“But in Roger’s defence, there is often a narrow line
between murder and suicide isn’t there?” said Gary. “Relatives wanting to
dispose of someone have plenty of choice. They usually choose poison, sometimes
smothering, air bubbles introduced into a hospital drip, a helpful medic, a
drowning ‘accident’, falling off a boat on the high seas, and so on.”
“So what happened to the case of the first Mrs Spencer was
almost normal procedure,” said Nigel.
“Yes. She could have been suffering from insomnia, but she
probably wanted to kill herself since she must have known what was going on
between her husband and Vivienne and was deeply troubled. We’ll never know. The
fact is that she was found dead in the bath with her wrists slit and it looked
like suicide.”
“But…”
“I know what you are going to suggest, Nigel,” said Gary. “You
have just written DNA on your notepad, Nigel. Check it out, please.”
***
“I’ll push off now, Gary,” said Greg. “Give my love to the
family. I’m delighted that the birth went so well.”
“Thanks Greg. Visit us at home soon. What are you going to
do now?”
“Talk to Frank Wetherby about the Palmer case. I’m not sure
I can take much more of Lizzie. She keeps phoning me, poor woman.”
***
When Greg had left, Gary instructed Nigel to leave out of
the report anything negative about Roger Stone. The tape recording could be
erased as soon as Nigel had finished typing the report. What Nigel thought
about that decision is not recorded.
***
Meanwhile, Dorothy had phoned Cleo to talk about the hunch
she had had the previous evening that had preyed on her mind all night.
“Can’t it wait, Dorothy?” I’ll be home later.”
“No, Cleo. I need to get it off my chest.”
“But we’ve been through everything over and over again,
Dorothy. How could Polly have killed Ali? Is it physically possible?”
“All things are possible, Cleo,” Dorothy said.
“Ali was tall, athletic and strong,” said Cleo. ”Polly is a
slip of a girl. He would have defended himself if she attacked him. Anyway, how
do you think she got from sex to stabbing?”
”Was she telling the truth about her antics?” Dorothy said.
“She might have broken off their sex and said she needed a drink, got up, taken
out a kitchen knife and stabbed him.”
“He was stabbed in the back, Dorothy. Even if he had chosen
to lie face-down on the cold stones for their sex- routine, surely he would
have turned round when he saw Polly approaching.”
“Not if she told him to stay face down because she had a
surprise for him,” said Dorothy. “He would have thought it was something sex-driven,
such as tying him up.”
“How do you know all that, Dorothy?”
“Movies. The ones after midnight, Cleo. A girl has to be
informed about these things.”
“I’m shocked,” said Cleo. “I don’t think we should tell
anyone that you’ve been watching pornography.”
“You’d be surprised who else watches those films. Now I’ve
had that hunch about Ali and watched a few physical jerks on TV, I know that
Polly could have found a way to stab him. She didn’t have to resort to anything
complicated.”
“You mean that she killed him and then slid under him and
pretended the rest.”
“I’m afraid so. The mystery to me is why she did not leave.”
“Others visited that crypt, Dorothy. Maybe she heard
something and decided that her best bet would be to pretend she was having
sex.”
“If she killed Ali, I expect she was cold-blooded enough to
do that,“ said Dorothy. “And then remorse overcame her and she sat sobbing on
the crypt steps.”
“I’d better phone Gary. He counted Polly out as a suspect
though he found her there. His argument is that she would not have a motive or
the means.”
“Perhaps she had the same motive as Molly and Mrs Spencer,
Cleo, on the lines of ‘If I can’t have him, No one else will’.”
“On second thoughts, you phone Gary, Dorothy. I’m not sure
he would be pleased about my worrying about crime when I’m just getting over
producing his two sons.”
“You are right, Cleo. I’ll do it now.”
“Thanks.”
“Oh, and I’m making pint-sized patchwork blankets, Cleo.
Will that be all right? I am so thrilled for you.”
“What a great idea, Dorothy.”
***
Interviewing the Spencers again was a chore Gary could not
postpone, but armed with the suggestion that Dorothy had put to him extremely
forcefully, he ordered a patrol team to collect the girl, rightly assuming that
she would be at home to look after her child since the Spencer couple wasn’t.
When she had been delivered to HQ, Gary told Nigel he would talk to Polly first.
Polly was a picture of injured innocence. Was there really
evil behind those limpid eyes?
“Why did you get me here?” she asked.
“I want to talk to you, Polly,” said Gary. “Where is your
son?”
“Next door,” she said. “He likes being there.”
***
Gary was not quite sure where to begin. Polly recoiled when
he drew up a chair and sat quite close, although they were not alone. Mia Curlew
had been asked to come in and sat down on the other side of Polly. Nigel sat in
his usual corner and scribbled frantically on his notepad.
“Do you know what I want to talk to you about?” said Gary.
“No Sir.”
“It’s about Ali.”
“Is it?”
“But it’s also about your mother.”
“Is it?” the girl repeated.
Gary chose his words carefully and spoke slowly.
“What happened on the day your mother died, Polly?”
Polly did not reply.
“Would you accuse your step-mother of something because you
hate her?”
“No Sir.”
“You have not explained how your mother got into the bath if
she was already asleep or in a coma.”
“No Sir.”
“Is that because you want to protect your father?”
Polly bit on her lip and was silent.
“We both know that Vivienne could not carry your mother into
the bathroom on her own.”
“No Sir.”
“So who carried her or helped to carry her, Polly? Was it
your father?”
Polly burst into tears.
“It was your father, wasn’t it?” said Gary.
“Yes.”
“Where were you, Polly?”
“Looking round the door of my bedroom.”
“Why didn’t you stop it happening?”
“I was scared.”
“Was your mother awake when she was carried into the
bathroom?”
“No, Sir. Her arm was dangling down.”
“But it wasn’t bleeding, was it?”
“No Sir.”
“What happened after that?”
“My father and Vivienne went downstairs and I waited a bit.
I could hear them going at it. Then I crept into the bathroom to see if I could
help my mother. But the water was all red, Mr Hurley, and my mother had slipped
half-way down into it.”
“She did not drown, Polly. There was no water in her lungs.
She died from the drugs she had swallowed and the red came from the wounds on
her wrists that had been inflicted on her in the bathtub.”
“I pulled her up out of the water, but it was too late.”
“You poor girl,” said Mia. “What an ordeal.”
“You mustn’t protect your father if he has been involved in
such a wicked thing, Polly,” said Gary.
“No Sir.”
***
Gary got up, walked to his desk and back to Polly.
“Are you wicked?” he asked suddenly, standing directly in
front of her. “Did you use that knife you brought to us at the cottage to kill
Ali?”
Nigel thought Gary was overstepping the line. How could the
woman cope with such a change of approach? Mia grasped Polly’s hand to reassure
her and encourage her to carry on with her story.
“It was a game, Sir.”
“Will you tell us about it?”
“We always played games, Sir. I would creep up on Ali and
Ali would pull me round, Sir, like I was being seduced. I had that with Nico’s
father when things were going all right.”
“Was it nice being seduced, Polly?” Mia asked, shocked to
the core as she thought of her own experiences.
Since it would never have occurred to Gary to ask that
question, he was glad Mia was there.
“Yes Miss. I got a nice feeling when he came on a bit
strong.”
Gary stifled his revulsion and exchanged glances with Nigel.
Is that how some women view brutality?
“But this time you had a knife, didn’t you Polly?” said
Gary.
“Yes Sir, but it was to cut the string after the tying-up
game.”
It was to be Polly’s confession so she must be allowed to
carry on. Neither Gary nor Mia accused her of planning to kill Ali.
“But then you remembered your step-mother, didn’t you?” said
Gary after a pause.
“She helped to kill my mother and she was having it off with
Ali.”
“Why didn’t you kill her, Polly?” Mia asked.
“I was going to, but she threatened me.”
“What did she threaten you with?”
“She was going to tell Molly I was having it off with Ali,
Miss, but then I would lose my job.”
“But you could have told on your step-mother, Polly,” said
Mia. “She was having it off with Ali and other men when your father was not
looking.”
Gary forgave Mia her turn of phrase. Polly would understand
it better than some more sophisticated way of describing what a hooker did.
“Yes Miss,” said Polly.
Gary nodded to Mia that she was to ask more questions. As a
woman, she would have an instinct for asking the right ones. That was why he
needed Cleo at such interviews, he mused.
“When did you find out that your step-mother was doing it
with Ali?” Mia asked.
“Viv told me that Ali liked her and he only put up with me
because I played games.”
“How did she know that?”
“I think Ali must have told her, Miss,” Polly said bitterly
“Vivienne said she was experienced with men and knew how to keep them
interested without my sort of silly games. That’s when I wanted to kill her.”
“Is that when you started to hate Ali?” said Mia.
Gary wondered why that had never occurred to him.
“Yes Miss.”
“Is that when you decided it would be better if there was no
Ali to mess up your life?”
“Yes Miss.”
“You knew he would want to play that special game you
described, so you took the kitchen knife with you, didn’t you?”
Now Mia was closing in on Polly and Gary was thanking the
gods for the policewoman.
“I hid it up my sleeve, Miss.”
“That was very clever, Polly,” said Mia.
“It was, wasn’t it?” said Polly. A cruel little smile played
on her lips.
Mia wondered if Polly was quite sane.
Gary was satisfied that the murder had been premeditated.
“I’ll have to arrest you, Polly,” said Gary.
“Yes Sir.”
Mia pulled the girl to her feet.
“I’m arresting you for the murder of Ali Lewis. Anything you
say can be used as evidence against you,” said Gary.
“Yes Sir.”
Gary nodded a thank you to Mia. Contrary to his
expectations, Polly did not break down.
Mia handcuffed the young woman. She would be taken to an
arrest cell. Mia would go to Polly’s home and get some clothes for her. She
would also contact social services since Nico would have to go into care.
“What about Nico?” Polly asked.
“We’ll take good care of your son,” said Gary.
“He’ll go into care, Polly, unless you have a family member
who can take him.”
“No Miss.”
***
When they had left, Nigel said he could not go through
another such gruelling questioning.
“It was rather awful, wasn’t it?” said Gary. “Get the
Spencer couple up here together, Nigel. I don’t think we’ll need long to get
them blaming one another.”
***
That interview was short and relatively painless. Polly’s
statement was not mentioned. The couple were both charged with the murder of
the first Mrs Spencer. Each of them tried to put the blame on the other. They
were taken to separate cells.
“That’s a marriage made in hell,” Gary said to Nigel. “How
could a nice, modest guy like Spencer suddenly turn into someone prepared to
kill for his own perceived better life?”
“You’ve only got to look at the Spencer woman to know that
he was a victim of his midlife crisis, Gary,” said Nigel.
“Good thinking, Nigel.”
“I’m glad I’m out of it, Gary. Being gay has its
advantages.”
“That depends, Nigel.”
“I didn’t mean Cleo,” said Nigel. “She’s a great lady.”
“I think so too, Nigel. It’s all a question of ethics rather
than sexuality. That’s why I like to have you as my assistant.”
“Thanks.”
***
“We’ve done enough for today, Nigel,” Gary announced. “Write
the reports and then take the rest of the day off. You’ve earned it and thanks
for being a witness to all that went on here.”
“If I liked women as partners, I could go for someone like
Mia,” said Nigel.
“You’re too late, Nigel. She’s married to a cop and they
have a child. I’m getting him transferred to HQ here. I want us to hang on to
Mia and I won’t be able to if she’s separated from her family for much longer.”
“She’s certainly impressive,” said Nigel. “She almost made
up for Cleo not being here.”
“Almost.”
***
After pasta served by Gloria at Romano’s restaurant and
accompanied by raving enthusiasm for the new babies after Gloria and Romano had
visited Cleo between serving lunches and opening for the evening the previous
day, Gary decided it was high time to collect Cleo and the twins from the
maternity ward. He was amused to see that Gloria was making herself useful.
Romano was chatting with customers at the bar and telling everyone that Gloria
was his new love and would soon be his wife.
When it came to paying for his meal, Gary was told that it
was on the house. He protested.
“I don’t need free food, Romano”, he protested.
“You aren’t been given anything free, Gary. I want you to
give Gloria away when we get married – in church of course.”
Gary said he would be glad to give her away. The deeper
meaning of that was known only to him. Gloria was bound to call the tune in
that marriage. She was not made to be a ‘little woman’.
Gary wondered if Romano knew what he was letting himself in
for. Did he know that Gloria avoided religion wherever possible except for
singing Gospels flamboyantly whenever she thought the occasion called for it?
Gary was glad his mother would be looking after the twins
while Cleo worked on cases. Grit’s motto was ‘live and let live’ and she
invariably played by it. Gloria’s view of life tended to be less altruistic.
The deliriously happy new father of twins drove faster than
allowed to the hospital, singing along tunelessly to a Frank Sinatra oldie. He
was flying to the moon, after all.
***
“We’re ready to go,” said Cleo, after she and Gary had been engrossed
in such an intensive embrace that you might think they had been apart for a
year.
“I’ve fed the twins and they are in their carrycot. Can you
take it? I’ll bring my bag.”
Gary presented the ward with a large bunch of flowers bought
at the hospital florist’s on the way to collect his family. They had been meant
for Cleo, but she was sure the community corner would love them.
“We can get some more,” she said, but that was not
immediately necessary, since Roger had sent the biggest bunch of long-stemmed
pink roses available, together with a note congratulating them both and
offering Cleo the job of psycho-social adviser on the staff at HQ, always
assuming she had enough time for it.
“You will definitely have enough time, Cleo” said Gary after
he had read the note. “We’ve been waiting for the all clear for ages and now we
have it at last.”
Cleo phoned Roger to thank him profusely and accept his job
offer.
***
Charlie had been given afternoon school-free to welcome her
mother and the twins home. Cleo was quite sure that they had the best big
sister that they could possibly have. PeggySue joined them on the big bed and
the four children submitted to being photographed by their proud father.
Grit assured Cleo that she could depend on help from the
word ‘go’.
“Life is simply awesome!” said Cleo.
“When the photos are done you can put the babies in the
cradle,” said Grit.
“We haven’t got one, Mother.”
“Look first. Talk later,” she said leading the way to the
children’s room.
“Another awesome surprise!” said Cleo. “Where did that come
from in two days flat?”
“It isn’t new. It’s from Sam,” said Grit.
“Who is Sam?” Cleo wanted to know.
“That must be the wrestling patrol cop,” said Gary.
“He has three children and his wife wants us to have the cradle
as long as we need it because she reckons three kids are enough,” Grit
explained.
“It’s beautiful,” said Cleo. “I wonder how he knew about the
twins.”
“News travels like lightning at HQ,” said Gary. “I expect
Greg told everyone after I had phoned him. I had told him I still had major
shopping to do and Greg asked me what I needed. He must have asked around. It
was rather urgent, as it transpired: the cutting edge of family-planning to
have your babies on your wedding day.”
“Sam said he has more equipment if you want it,” said Grit.
“You could buy bikes for their kids as a thank you, Gary,”
said Cleo.
“He may want the cash,” said Gary. “Patrol cops don’t earn a
fortune.”
“I expect he’s paid for his wrestling shows, isn’t he?” said
Grit.
“It won’t be a fortune unless he appears at Wembley,” said
Cleo.
“Sam brought the cradle this morning. He’s such a nice man,
even if he does have muscles I didn’t know existed and a shaved head,” said
Grit.
“We’ll ask them to dinner, won’t we Gary?” said Cleo.
“And we’ll all go to his next wrestling show,” said Gary.
“Wow! All of us?”
“Well, not the children,” said Gary. “We’ll get Gloria to
baby-sit without telling her where we are going.”
The twins were stirring. They were ready for another feed.
Cleo fed the babies in front of an enthusiastic but respectfully quiet
audience.
“Time for us to eat something now,” Cleo eventually
announced. “I’ll change the twins and they will sleep for an hour or two.”
“Can I sit with them?” Charlie asked.
“Sure. What a good idea.”
“We’ll put the cradle in the big bedroom for a while,” said
Gary.
***
Much later, the three grownups were drinking coffee at the
dining table. All the children were (thankfully) asleep.
“You can’t keep me in suspense any longer, Gary,” said Cleo.
“What did you achieve this morning?”
Was it a coincidence that Dorothy Price arrived at just that
moment?
***
“I’ve been baking,” she announced. “I’ve brought some of it.”
“Wow, thanks Dorothy! You are just in time to hear what Gary
has been up to,” said Cleo, walking ahead of Dorothy to inspect the twins first.
“They are so sweet, Cleo,” she said. “Now you have four
beautiful children. Did you ever dream that could happen?”
“No, Dorothy. I can’t believe how good life is to me.”
“Come along, Ladies,” called Gary. “I’ve made more coffee
and that marvellous currant bread is cut and buttered. I don’t know what we’d
do without you, Dorothy!”
“I feel the same. It’s just like having a family of my own.”
“You are family, Dorothy,” said Gary.
“So tell the family what you did this morning, Gary,” said
Cleo.
“Thanks for the tip-off, Dorothy, though I don’t know where
you got that idea after we chewed it over and discarded it a week ago.”
“Just a hunch, Gary.”
“Did I miss something, Sweetheart?”
“I arrested Polly for the murder of Ali Lewis,” he said.
“Goodness!” said Dorothy. “That was a good hunch!”
“Awesome!” said Cleo.
“I had Mia Curlew in to help with the questioning.”
“So all those other ideas about Ali were only think-tank,”
said Cleo.
“But essential. Dorothy could not have had her hunch if she
had not put forward all those ideas!” said Gary. “I seem to remember her seeing
Polly as a suspect from the start, only we could not imagine how she had done
it.”
“That was before I watched a midnight porno,” Dorothy
explained.
“I thought you watched gangster movies, Dorothy. I don’t
approve f nice women watching filth.”
“It was harmless. The filth comes on later,” said Dorothy. “What
about Polly’s motive?”
“I think revenge best describes it,” said Gary after swallowing
hard.
“Explain that, please,” said Grit, who was already getting
into the spirit of crime detection. No wonder it fascinated these lovely people.
“Polly tried to rescue her mother after witnessing her father
and his hooker girlfriend plotting to kill her. She saw her father carrying her
comatose mother to the bathroom and into a bathtub presumably filled by Mrs
Spencer. There, the poor woman was left to die with slit wrists, for which I
suspect that the hooker was responsible.”
“Poor Polly, but she killed Ali, not Vivienne Spencer,
Gary,” said Dorothy. “It doesn’t really make sense, and she waited a long time
for any kind of revenge on her mother’s murder.”
“People have been known to wait a lifetime,” said Gary. “Vivienne
had taunted Polly with the fact that she herself was having an affair with Ali
and he was only sleeping with Polly for amusement.”
“That’s terrible,” said Grit.
“By killing Ali she was punishing both him and her
step-mother,” said Gary. “She had started to hate Ali, presumably because he
was not making any move to stop his sex adventures with Vivienne and Molly, to
name only two. Polly was not killing her lover, but a guy who contradicted her
belief that he loved her, and only her. At least, that’s how I understand it.
You may have different ideas, Ladies.”
“No. I’m sure you’re right,” said Cleo, ”though I’m not
really sure that she would have thought anything through.”
“Correction! She thought far enough ahead to take a knife
with her to the crypt,” said Gary. “She said it was to cut the string after their
tying-up game.”
“That makes me shudder,” said Cleo.
“What about the other Spencers?” Dorothy asked.
“I questioned them together and they did exactly what I
expected: they blamed one another for the murder of Mrs Spencer the first that
they had committed jointly. I charged them together and they will find no mercy
at the hands of the public prosecutor.”
“Quite right, too,” said Grit.
***
“What about Mortimer?” said Cleo. “Did you get his identity
straightened out?”
“The guy in the arrest cell could be James, the factory
owner. But if he is, we still have to find his brother.”
“You‘ll have to go to Dijon and look for him, Gary,” said
Cleo.
“I can’t leave the family,” said Gary. “Not now.”
“Tomorrow, Gary. No discussion, please,” said Cleo. “You have
a job to do. You will have to go to Dijon and work with the French cops.”
Gary was offended.
“Do you want me to go? Can you do without me?”
“Sure. We’ll cope for a couple of days. I’ll book you a
flight when you’ve got the OK from Roger. Phone him now! On second thoughts
I’ll phone him and hand over when I’ve thanked him for the roses.”
***
Roger told Cleo that in view of the happy events at the weekend
he had not wanted to tear Gary away from the family.
“I’ll hand you the phone, Roger,” said Cleo.
“It’s Cleo’s idea,” Gary told him.
“It’s the right way to go about this investigation, Gary,”
said Roger. “HQ will foot all your expenses, of course.”
“Thanks Roger. I’ll need two clear days so I’ll be back on
Friday.”
Cleo took the handset back.
“How about coming to dinner on Friday evening, Roger?” she
invited. “I’ll invite Dorothy and we can listen to Gary’s report live.”
“I’ll be there, Cleo,” said Roger. ”Erm… is Grit going to be
there?”
“Sure.”
***
A few minutes on the web and Cleo had acquired all the
travel information she needed.
“I’ve found a flight to Lyon and you can hire a car and
drive to Dijon,” she reported. “Is that OK, or would you prefer to go by train?”
“Car, please.”
“It is the fastest way, only just over a two hour drive, and
you might be glad of a car in Dijon.”
“I’m convinced. Go ahead and book plane and car, Cleo.”
“I’ll book you in a hotel, shall I?”
“What would I do without you?” said Gary.
“I’ll send a mail to Roger explaining the travel arrangements.
You’ll have to get up early, Gary.”
“We’d better get an early night, then.”
“And I’d better go home so that you can do that,” said
Dorothy. “Bon voyage!”
***
Leaving his family to fend for themselves was going to be tough
on Gary, but he was stoical about it. That Mortimer guy was out there
somewhere, probably hiding out in Dijon, maybe even in his brother’s house. To
be honest, Gary couldn’t wait to get going, despite the joys of fatherhood!
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