Episode 9 - Introducing Frank Wetherby

Monday March 24

Cleo took PeggySue to nursery early before going to the office. Gloria had begged the morning off everything after an exhausting weekend (she said), but she would collect the little girl and take her home at midday. Gary was driving his other daughter to school in Middlethumpton. He wanted to do that every morning, but Charlie would not hear of it. She liked driving on the bus and anyway, Helen and Cecilia needed her.

Cleo had waited in vain on Sunday for a phone-call from Dorothy reporting on her visit to the pub in Huddlecourt Minor. Curiosity finally got the better of her and she phoned as soon as Gary had left for HQ on Monday morning.

"Are you OK, Dorothy?" Cleo asked when Dorothy finally answered the phone. “You didn’t phone.”

“There was nobody at the pub yesterday.”

“Why didn’t you let me know?”

“It’s a long story and a boring one.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” said Cleo. “What time did you go there?”

“In the afternoon. I had a headache all morning, so I waited for it to subside, but when I got there the pub was closed and no one answered at any of the door bells, so I went for a walk and was waylaid by Miss Snow.”

“Couldn’t you shake her off?”

“Unfortunately not. She obviously wanted to talk, so I went home with her and she asked me about Frederick Parsnip all over again. I think she has a guilty conscience, Cleo, though Edith had not wanted her husband back, according to Flora Snow. Flora Snow said it was her fault that he had had to die in that hospital. Since Edith had disowned him, she should have kept an eye on him, she insisted. I put her right on that and gave her a good telling off for keeping up the Laura charade for so long. I did not mince words.”

“Impersonating her half-sister was certainly not good judgement even if it wasn’t her idea.”

“Frederick was so convinced about her identity that she stopped denying it and started to see the advantage of playing up to him, although she did phone Edith, didn’t she? But Edith knew where he was and did not tell us.”

“I think that was because she was involved with Robert and the vicar would have been in the way, Dorothy. Did you ask her to explain why Edith did not reclaim him?”

“Edith had told Flora Snow that she didn’t want him back,” said Dorothy.

“Edith must have decided that her affair with Robert was going to be a permanent arrangement,” said Cleo.

“I still think that Edith was escaping in her own way from that terrible situation with the bishop. Some sort of schizophrenia must have set in then. She did lose her memory for a time, without being injured physically, and that is a sure sign that her mind was running away from something. The sexual aberrations were probably a further form of escapism.”

“I agree with you, Dorothy. That fake bishop has a lot to answer for,” said Cleo.

“When I got home I lay down for a bit, intending to collect my thoughts and phone you after I’d had a nap, but I slept all night.”

“If you had nothing to report about Molly, it’s just as well you got a good night’s sleep,” said Cleo. “I’m disappointed, though. Maybe we could try again together later today.”

“After lunch?”

“Yes. Come to the cottage and we’ll drive there. I’m expecting Frank Wetherby this morning. He’s to get busy on the case of the unidentified corpse at Molly’s pub.”

***

It was tiresome that Dorothy had not been able to achieve anything the previous day except an exasperating chat with Flora Snow, who was still anxious to discuss the vicar incident with a view to exonerating herself, Cleo conjectured. Dorothy could only escape further breast-beating by Flora by leaving. Cleo called Gary to report that the pub had been closed all day Sunday and Dorothy had not found anyone to talk to there. They would go there together that afternoon. Gary said he would try to contact Molly before then, but would not announce their visit.

“Thanks, Gary. I’m waiting for Frank now. He needs to be briefed on the Lilac Way case. Do you have any information on that for me?”

“No. Ask Frank to find out from the neighbours if…”

“I know. I’ve done that kind of investigating before.”

“Oops. Sorry. I didn’t mean to tell you how to do your job. So you haven’t taken baby leave, I take it.”

“How can I when Dorothy needs support?”

“You can’t. Not with Frank arriving and needing to be shown the ropes. I don’t want to tell you how to do your job, my love, but it might be a good idea to get Frank to ask around about the Mortimer family relationship. Why would a partner kill his wife and children if everything was normal?”

“Assuming he is guilty.”

“Who else could have done such a deed, Cleo? It’s a typical crime done by someone fiercely jealous or faced with some kind of ultimatum he wants to avoid. And the guy did abscond, didn’t he?”

“We don’t know that, Gary. Maybe he doesn’t know what has happened to his family. You’ll have to give him the benefit of the doubt until there’s firm evidence against him.”

“You’re a wise old owl, Cleo.”

“Enough of the old, old man,” said Cleo. “Chris will find out if the kids were born out of wedlock, I expect. That’s often a sore point and causes the final crunch.”

“I’ll get onto that right away, assuming we can get some DNA from the killer or father, of course.”

“You’re right. I hadn’t thought of that.”

“But there’ll be a hairbrush or other source of DNA. Chris is experienced at getting DNA.”

“Let me have anything new right away, please. I need information for Frank.”

“In return you can inform me of any contact you have with Molly,” said Gary. “I hope she hasn’t decided to leave town.”

“I think she’s too much of a businesswoman to do that.”

“I’ll have to break this off, Cleo. My house phone is blinking and it’s Roger trying to get through. He only phones this early if something is urgent.”

***

A few minutes later, Frank Wetherby arrived flustered because the traffic had held him up. He soon learnt how complex affairs were in Upper Grumpsfield. Five murders, one corpse unidentified, 3 probably identified, a suspect who had melted into thin air, two other possible suspects, a missing girl, a woman in a coma after a suspected suicide, and no real facts to support anything. It was all mindboggling for a private eye who had known everything about what went on in Frint-on-Sea, but had never been able to do anything about it. Even trying to work with the local police had not been of any use.

Frank had kept the wolf from the door by giving evening classes on drawing cartoons 3 days a week. His sleuthing was mostly for divorce cases and other private customers with axes to grind. On Fridays he did shop-lifting control at the only sizeable store in the town during the season. Why Friday, he was often asked and explained that the holiday-makers left on a Saturday, which was the day for coming and going at the seaside, and were anxious to get souvenirs and other things to take home, so Friday was the day they went on the rampage. On Sundays he tried to get out and paint ‘plein air’, he told Cleo.

“Gary and I have learnt to make time for the things we want to do, Frank,” she told him. “You can do the same here. Working round the clock leads to burnout. Gary can tell you a bit about that.”

In fact, part of Gary’s burnout was the stress of what seemed like a futile affair with Cleo, but she left that home truth out.

“I’m just so glad you came, Frank,” she said. “It will help us all to get a fresh view of things.”

“I suppose investigations were at a standstill over the weekend,” said Frank.

“Corpses cropped up all last week,” Cleo answered. “Even Gary stumbled over one. I don’t think that has happened to him before. So there’s a huge backlog of investigating and you aren’t here a day too soon!”

Cleo explained the situation of Ali’s death briefly. They would have to wait for forensic evidence before doing anything, but the barmaid had most probably been telling lies and was shielding someone. Maybe she would succumb to the attraction of a young private detective and reveal what she was hiding.

“I hope you don’t want me to sleep with her,” said Frank.” I really prefer to choose my women myself.”

“Of course not, Frank. This is not a partner bureau!”

“Sorry Cleo. My Frint-on-Sea cynicism was coming through. What’s first on the schedule?”

On the technical side, Tom Birch, our IT specialist, has fixed you a terminal over there. The PC and desk came here from my old office next door that is now being leased and used by the police. I brought took the desk back because they wanted to install a counter and now I’m glad I did. People like to have something to lean on and it looks more official. If you are also an artist, you could hang some of your work here. You might even sell something. I quite like the idea of using this office as a gallery.”

“Great,” said Frank, trying his office chair for size. “I’ll bring some paintings next time I go home. They are mainly stored at my parents’ house since I gave up living with my last girlfriend and went home to mother.”

“You are connected to my database and printer, so I don’t think you will need to use my PC, but you can if you want to, and we can get another printer. We really need two if two of us are working. I take my laptop with me when I go home, but the database is on cloud storage, so I can access that anywhere. The passwords are quite long, but you can use them, of course, except my private one, but I don’t keep any secrets worth revealing.”

“I’m impressed, Cleo.”

Cleo thought that was a bit condescending.

“What were you expecting, Frank?” she said, “a furnished garage somewhere?”

Frank thought he had underestimated Cleo’s acumen and was starting to understand why Gary Hurley liked working with her. He now felt the need to change the subject.

“It doesn’t matter which route you take from Wales,” Frank said to excuse his late arrival and cover up the faux pas he had just committed. He had never worked for a woman before, let alone with such a dynamic one. “There are hold-ups and speed limits on all of them,” he said, wondering if her eyes always smouldered. She was quite a catch even when she was heavily pregnant.

“Have some coffee and get your breath back, Frank. Where are you staying? I’m sorry we can’t offer you hospitality, but we are having extensive rebuilding done at the cottage and there is simply no room.”

“That’s OK. My mother’s cousin twice or is it three times removed lives in Huddlecourt Minor. She takes in lodgers and is expecting me.”

“That is great, Frank. You’ll almost be at the scene of one of our current crimes, which is one you will be intensely concerned with in the coming days. A guy died a day or two ago at the pub. We don’t know yet who he is or quite how he died and why he was at the pub, but your mother’s cousin might know something. I’ll print a photo of him for you. Finding out who the guy is will be one of your first tasks here.”

“Aren’t the police onto it?”

“Sure, but they tend to rely on their databases while we do the snooping!”

Cleo advised Frank to talk to Greg about the mysterious guy and explain that he was following Cleo’s instructions. The guy’s photo had not been found on any of the databases.

This time Frank refrained from making a sexist remark.

”Detective Greg Winter has been put in charge of that case,” she said. ”He moved recently from the patrol team to Gary’s homicide squad.”

Cleo gave him Greg’s mobile number. “He’s a good cop, but glad of any tips you can give him. He’s only recently passed his detective exams, so he’s a newcomer to all the double dealing that goes under the definition of honour among thieves.”

“But that’s not all I’m here for, is it Cleo?”

“No. I really should be here all the time, but the babies will be arriving soon. Things are moving fast here in this sleepy village and the agency needs you to take charge here while I am getting over the birth.”

Cleo briefed Frank on the situation in Lilac Way. Frank thought he could start by going along there and seeing what he could turn up.

“I’ll be here until shortly before twelve, Frank. Here are your keys to the office. Feel free to make coffee or tea and eat anything you find in the utility room. I’ll be at home after that, but only until early afternoon. I’m meeting Dorothy Price – remember her from Frint-on-Sea? She’s a great sleuth with really quirky ideas that work. We want to try to locate the woman who runs the pub in Huddlecourt Minor where the guy was found dead. We can keep in touch on our phones, can’t we?”

“Isn’t Dorothy a bit old for detective work?” said Frank.

“Is there an age limit, Frank? Dorothy carries a loaded gun in her handbag and goes regularly to the shooting range at HQ to meet Greg for training sessions. She has a knack of talking to people that makes them tell her things they would not tell you or me. She also has brilliant hunches that have led to successful arrests on more than one occasion. Give her a break, Frank.”

“I will, Cleo. I did not mean to be negative, it’s just that…”

“Is it really a man’s game? My husband used to think that women were designed to be decorative rather than useful. He’s learning, though.”

***

Frank was glad to get going sooner than he expected. Things had been slack in Frint-on-Sea. He was glad that Cleo had summoned him overnight to join her investigations. The politicians Gary had hoped to see behind bars in Frint-on-Sea had gone underground, while the town clerk really was behind bars. His juggling with the town’s rates and taxes was not well enough hidden from the eagle eyes of a canny auditor from Liverpool who was not aware of the corruption and would never have supported it. Sergeant Llewellyn had been fired and was now rehabilitated as a porter in security, of all things. If Frint-on-Sea had been a one horse town before, it was a non-horse dump now. Cleo agreed that those days investigating the corpse Dorothy and her sister had found accidentally while on holiday had been tedious because the local police had resented the presence of ‘foreign’ workers and made no secret of the fact. Only when Gary started to get results were they reconciled to his being there.

***

“Brass will be in charge of our new sub police station right next door, Frank.”

“That will be convenient!”

“He has a clean slate, Frank, doesn’t he?”

“I think so. He’s not the type for crummy dealings, Cleo.”

“We villagers are very glad we will have police presence at long last, not least thanks to the suburban homicide rate here. We have had five corpses and a near miss within ten days. We seem to get more murders in this district than they do in Middlethumpton.”

“What is a near miss?”

“An attempted suicide unless it was attempted murder followed or even pre-empted by attempted suicide. The late vicar’s wife turned promiscuous, behaved atrociously towards a nice guy, and we don’t even know if someone else tried to kill her before or maybe after she attempted to slash her wrists. The forensic guys at HQ are struggling with a large quantity of evidence, not just on that incident. Come to dinner and we’ll tell you in detail what’s been going on here. It’s mind-boggling.”

“Thanks. Cleo. I’ll go to my lodgings sometime during the afternoon and move into my room.”

“We usually eat at seven, Frank.”

“I’ll be there.”

***

Frank’s first task proved rather more difficult than he at first thought. He walked to Lilac Way, past Cleo’s cottage. There were no houses exactly opposite number 27 Lilac Way, so he decided to start with the neighbours immediately next door and go on from there.

At number 29 an elderly woman opened the door to Frank,

“I’m not buying anything,” she said. “Go away.”

“I’m not selling anything, Mrs Errr…”

“Thomas. Is it about next door then?”

“As a matter of fact it is.”

“You’d better come in.”

Mrs Thomas called out to her husband.

“Frank, come down at once. There’s a man here wants to talk about the Mortimers.”

“It’s uncommonly kind of you to take the time,” said Frank. “I’m Frank Wetherby.”

“Another Frank? That is a nice coincidence,” said Mrs Thomas, and then to the little old man still negotiating the stairs one by one she said in a very loud voice “His name’s Frank, too, Frank. Isn’t that nice?”

“How do you do,” said Frank to Mr Thomas in a volume to match Mrs Thomas’s.

“Don’t shout. I’m not deaf,” said the old man.

“He is,” said Mrs Thomas at normal volume, “and crotchety. What do you want to know, Mr Wetherby?”

“What did you say, Emily?” Mr Thomas shouted, coming further down the stairs.

“I asked Mr Wetherby what he wants to know, Frank,” said Mrs Thomas, raising her voice to boom level.

“Well don’t tell him any lies, Emily! I’m going back to bed,” Mr Thomas said. Then he turned tail and went laboriously back up the stairs.

“Good riddance,” said Mrs Thomas. Frank thought they were extremely fed up with one another. He had a theory about that, but he had a job to do, so he would get on with it.

“I expect you know what has happened, Mrs Thomas.”

“Oh yes. I asked. That wicked man killed his family, didn’t he?”

“We don’t know if it was him, Mrs Thomas.”

“It will have been. They were always having rows and those kids were not his. He hated them.”

“But they were still quite young, weren’t they?”

“Mrs Mortimer married Mr Mortimer only last year. She didn’t tell him about the boys until after she was married.”

“He must have had a shock, Mrs Thomas.”

“He wanted to throw them out, but Mrs Mortimer wouldn’t hear of it. Did anyone tell you she was pregnant again?”

“No.”

“Well she was. She told me. From her lover, I should think. Three months gone and I think that’s why Mortimer killed her. Then he killed the kids for good measure.”

“How do you know all that?” Frank asked.

“It’s common knowledge round here,” said Mrs Thomas, “Ask anyone! They’ll all tell you the same story. But I had a special relationship with Mrs Mortimer. I was sorry for her.”

“You are the first person I have talked to about the tragedy, Mrs Thomas.”

“Are you from that agency place, Mr Wetherby?”

“Yes, I am, but don’t tell anyone, will you?” Frank answered, not believing that Mrs Thomas would keep the information to herself.

“That coloured woman is pregnant again,” said Mrs Thomas. “Are you taking over the agency?”

“No. Just helping out.”

“I’ve heard some really funny stories about her,” Mrs Thomas said.

Frank thought he’d better find out what.

“Well, not exactly about her. About her ex, that butcher man. He walked out on her because she was carrying on with that detective fellow.”

“Did he really walk out?”

Frank was quite glad to have this information however he had learnt it, assuming it was true.

“But the butcher has a new woman now,” Mrs Thomas continued.

“That’s probably the reason he walked out, Mrs Thomas,” said Frank, improvising in defence of Cleo.

“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” she said. “Anyway, the new woman was the vicar’s wife and he was still alive when she started the hanky-panky.”

“People change,” said Frank.

Mrs Thomas’s face had relaxed and she seemed quite thankful to have Frank to talk to.

“I should have walked out of here years ago,” she said. “But I had nowhere to go.”

Frank thought a little humour might help.

“You should have got yourself a lover, Mrs Thomas.”

“I did,” she said. “He was killed in a car crash and I’m stuck with that gnome upstairs.”

Frank realized that he had hit on a sore subject.

“Oh, I am sorry.”

“Not as sorry as I am,” said Mrs Thomas, sniffing.

Frank waited before asking her anything else.

“Just one more question,” he said finally.

“About next door?”

“Yes.”

“Because I’m not talking about the love of my life.”

“I’m not asking you to, Mrs Thomas.”

“Good,” she said.

“Did the Mortimers ever have visitors?”

“He had a brother who only ever came when Mr Mortimer was away on business. They looked alike, but the other Mortimer drove a French car and always parked it round the corner in Lavender Drive, secret like. He never stayed more than two nights and he got on well with the boys, but they were not allowed to talk about that, Mrs Thomas told me. Between you, me and the gatepost I think it was probably the father of the new baby and probably of the two boys. I didn’t see any other men go in and out.”

“But some might have, Mrs Thomas.”

 “I don’t miss much of what goes on in this road so I never thought of that angle,” said Mrs Thomas. She had certainly put plenty of thought into what she thought she knew.

“Was Mr Mortimer jealous? Did you hear him shouting?”

“That’s three more questions, Mr Wetherby. I’d say yes to the last two, but not when the Frenchie was here.”

“You’ve been most helpful, Mrs Thomas,” said Frank. “I’ll have to ask the other neighbours, but I don’t expect them to know more than you do.”

“Let me know who did it, Mr Wetherby. I’m quite nervous and Mr Thomas would not defend me even if he had to. I would not rescue him either, but don’t tell anyone I said that.”

“Now we both have secrets, Mrs Thomas.”

The dislike was strong and mutual between the Thomases, thought Frank. He hoped Mrs Thomas was not thinking of setting fire to Mr Thomas’s bed. He knew of cases where the perpetrator had got off scot free after a half-smoked cigarette was found and the blaze blamed on smoking in bed. He would not suggest that to the woman.

“We’re trying to trace Mr Mortimer at the moment,” he said, deliberately making it an afterthought. “He seems to have disappeared. Do you know where he could be?”

“He’ll have gone to France, Mr Wetherby, to see his brother and pick up some more toys to sell. I don’t know exactly where the brother lives.”

“So Mr Mortimer trades in toys, does he?”

“That’s what I heard from Mrs Mortimer,” said Mrs Thomas. “The brother makes the toys and this Mr Mortimer sells them in this country.”

“I see.”

“Mrs Mortimer had plenty of opportunities to entertain any number of boyfriends, now I come to think of it,” said Mrs Thomas.

“That could all be vital information. Thank you. Here’s the agency business card,” he said, handing her one. “If you think of anything else, just call any of these numbers.”

“I’ll do that,” Mrs Thomas promised as she watched Frank go down the drive.

***

Frank thought Mrs Thomas had enjoyed some kind of triumph at being able to confide in him about the miserable state of affairs she was enduring herself. She was seemingly one of those women who would rather live with an awful partner than go it alone.

But Frank was not a social worker. He would get on with his job. Mrs Thomas had told him quite a lot about the Mortimers, and that made it worthwhile talking to her. He switched off the small digital recorder he had used hidden during the interview with Mrs Thomas. It was easier than writing a report based on what he remembered. There was useful information to be followed up unless the woman had been telling lies, and he thought that unlikely.

***

At number 25 Lilac Way, the neighbours the other side of Mortimer’s house would have to be drawn into his investigation, even if they did not have much to add to what Mrs Thomas had to say. The lawn in front of the house was almost shaved, as if the residents had nothing better to do, he thought as he rang the doorbell, on which he read only the initials R & D. Intriguing.

The guy who transpired to be D opened the door cautiously. R looked over his shoulder. Frank was surprised to see that a clearly gay couple had taken up residence in the road. He hoped they were not being harassed.

“Oh,” said D. “I thought you were the milkman bringing butter and yoghurt,” he said, “or the murderer come back to get us,” R chipped in.

“Sorry. No butter. No yoghurt, No killer. Just a humble private eye hoping you can tell me something about next door.”

“I suppose you mean the Mortimers, don’t you?”

Frank nodded.

“You’re at the wrong house,” said R. “Mrs Thomas at No. 29 knows all the details. She’s a terribly nosey person.”

“I’ve been there. Should I believe what she told me?” asked Frank.

“Why not? I don’t think she could make up the lurid things she’s been saying to anyone who’ll listen. Come in and have a cup of tea, Mr…” one of them.

“Wetherby. Frank.”

“Well, come in Frank. I’m Daniel and this is my friend Roderick.”

“The house was elegantly furnished in quite an opulent way. The sitting room was comfortable and welcoming. Frank was glad to sit down. Standing in Mrs Thomas’s hallway for half an hour had been tiring.

“Yes, you can believe Mrs Thomas. As Roddy said, she would not have the imagination to make up what she was telling, Frank,” said Daniel, pouring exquisite tea into an exquisite china cup from an exquisite silver pot.

“It is a terrible tragedy,” said Frank. ”The police don’t know where to start looking for Mortimer,” he added.

“Didn’t Mrs Thomas tell you he will have gone to France?” said Daniel.

“We knew that,” Frank improvised, “but France is a big country and she did not know exactly where Mr Mortimer went, either.”

“He has a brother in Dijon, so he might have gone there,” said Roderick. “The brother owns a toy factory.”

“Have you ever met him?”

“No, but Roderick thinks he visited Mrs Mortimer when her husband was away,” said Daniel.

“What makes you think that, Roderick?”

“The two men look very alike, but the one from France is fatter, Frank. The thinner one lived here and the other one visited. Between you and us, Mrs Mortimer was not averse to a bit of slap and tickle. I think the fatter one was better at it.”

Do <ou think that or know it?”

“He would be my type, Frank,” said Roderick, “but there’s rumour that the two boys were his and she was expecting again.”

“Were there any other visitors?” Frank asked.

“Not so you’d notice,” said Roderick.

“Did you say Dijon?” Frank asked. “Mrs Thomas told me about France, but did not mention Dijon. I’ll just phone the office and tell Miss Hartley. She should get Chief Inspector Hurley onto that straight away.”

“So you work for Cleo, do you?” said Roderick. “Nice lady. And that Inspector Gary is a dish. What a pity he isn’t…”

“Just as well,” said Daniel. “I don’t fancy a threesome.”

“Indian extraction, I think,” Frank again improvised with more accuracy than he could have imagined. “I think he prefers women, especially Cleo.”

“Ooh! Erotic pure; Kamasutra, I expect,” said Roderick. “Nice for Cleo, I should think.”

“Naughty, naughty, Roddy,” said Daniel.

“I wouldn’t know about any of that,” said Frank haughtily and Roddy looked at him coyly.

“The main thing is that they get on like me and R.” said Daniel, and Frank decided that Daniel’s grammar wasn’t quite as posh as his porcelain. “More tea?”

“Yes, Danny. Give Frankie some more tea,” said Roddy.

Frank phoned Cleo to tell her about Mortimer’s possible whereabouts. She told him she would pass on the information and they would get the French cops onto it. Frank was now almost sorry he had recorded the Thomas interview. It was not quite kosher, and neither was this one, he reflected. He would try to transcribe both before anyone else could listen to them.

“Where are you now, Frank?” Cleo asked.

I’m at D and R’s,” he told her.

“Well, give them my love. They are such nice guys.”

Frank relayed the message and was rewarded with a chorussed thank you.

“You won’t give us a hug, I suppose,” said Daniel. “Cleo and Gary are always hugging people.”

“No need for a hug now,” said Frank, wondering if the two men were testing his sexual preference.

“Cleo told us that Gary had really started the frequent hugging. Apparently it clears the air and is a lovely sign of friendship.”

“I would find it a bit overwhelming,” said Frank.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Roderick. “When it happens, you’ll enjoy it.”

Frank realized that the conversation was chitchat of no investigative value and decided he had better things to do.

“I’d better get Mrs Thomas’s information entered in the database,” he said, getting up to leave. “Thanks for the tea.”

“We’ll call you if we think of anything significant,” said Daniel. “Mrs Mortimer was a very unhappy woman, you know. She should never have married that skinny guy. And as for those two poor kids, we really felt sorry for them. We did not realize the danger they were in.”

Frank moved towards the door.

“The problem is that some women – and men for that matter – are often too proud or ashamed to seek help,” he said.

“That’s right, Frank,” said Daniel. Take Robert Jones the butcher, for instance. He’s a tragic figure these days, but we’ll talk about that another time. I can see you are in a hurry.”

Frank wondered what R and D knew about Robert Jones’s dilemma. He knew that Mr Jones was Cleo’s ex and a bit about him getting together with the vicar’s wife, thanks mainly to Mrs Thomas’s garrulousness. Cleo would no doubt tell him anything else he needed to know. After all, he was new to the district and should be in the know as soon as possible, if only to avoid putting his foot in it.

***

A visit to any of the other neighbours seemed superfluous for the moment. The French police would look for Mortimer. Until there was more clarity on Mortimer’s role in the murders there was no point in talking to more neighbours. Mrs Mortimer had probably suffered alone except for the occasional heart-to-heart with Mrs Thomas. Frank would get Cleo to find out where the dead boys had gone to school. Mrs Mortimer might have confided in someone on parent days. It was worth a try.

***

Cleo was still in the office when Frank got back, but she was in a hurry.

“We need to know where the murdered boys went to school,” said Frank. “I don’t suppose they were named Mortimer. The guy apparently hated them so he would not have adopted them,” said Frank.

“Adopted?”

“They were her children but not his, Cleo.”

“Their names must be on documents. Chris Marlow, the head of forensics and pathology at HQ, might now have them,” said Cleo.

“There will still be documents in the house, surely, Cleo.”

“It’s certainly possible, or in a safe somewhere,” mused Cleo. “I’ve just had another idea. Those kids probably attended the primary school on Thumpton Hill, here in Upper Grumpsfield. I could phone there. The headmistress might know about the killings.”

“That’s great,” said Frank. “The faster we get more information the better. Did you tell Gary about Dijon?”

“Sure. Europol will be responsible and the French police will no doubt be happy to extradite a suspected killer.”

“Always supposing he is one, Cleo. Maybe he just found his family dead and panicked.”

“That’s certainly possible, Frank,” Cleo admitted. “I’ll phone that Primary School right now.”

“I’ll get the Lilac Way reports written. Oh and before I forget, Danny and Roddy send their love and talked about a thin and a fat Mortimer. That might help us to identify them if the information is not a wild exaggeration.”

“It probably is, Frank. Nice people are often described as plump and jovial.”

***

“Miss Merchant?”

“Speaking.”

“This is Cleo Hartley. Are you missing two boys, brothers, in one of the older classes?”

“I’ll have to consult the registers, Miss Hartley. Can I call you back some time?”

“That would be good, Miss Merchant. If I’m out of the office you can tell my assistant, Frank Wetherby.”

“I’ll do that, Miss Hartley.”

“Thanks.”

Miss Merchant hung up without asking why Cleo needed that information.

“Judging on her tone of voice, Miss Merchant will not be helpful even if she calls back, which I doubt. She either knows the boys were not attending or does not know and is hiding the fact. Either way she is being negligent.“

“She sounded like a dragon,” said Frank, who had been listening through the speaker.

“She is awful, Frank. Such individuals should not be allowed near kids.”

***

Brass dropped into the Cleo’s office to declare that he was delighted with his own new office.

“I can’t thank you enough. Cleo,” he enthused.

“Don’t mention it, Brass. It was mostly Gary’s idea and it’s the best thing that’s happened to Upper Grumpsfield since crime was invented.”

“I’ll spend today getting everything organized and then just open the door and wait,” said Brass. “Can I send anyone over to you if they have your sort of problem?”

“Of course. We will gladly take over cases you cannot deal with or if they are not in your sphere. I may work here for a week or two, but Frank will definitely be here when he isn’t out on a case, and I hope to get more part-time staff while I’m taking a week or two off to give birth. If all else fails, you can always phone us.”

“Good. About the bungalow. Can I move in soon?”

“Phone Gary about that. As far as I’m concerned it sounds like a brilliant idea. But don’t forget our wedding on Saturday, will you?”

“No danger of that, Cleo. It will take a while to get my duty rota going and I can’t fetch the children until that’s all up and running. But I can get the furniture transported so that we all have beds to sleep on when they move in. I’ll sleep at my lodgings until then and post my office hours daily for all to see while I’m getting a rota set up.”

“You’d better take a second key, Brass and get some more made for each one on your rota. HQ will pay. I’ll still have one here for emergencies, but we won’t use it without good reason.”

Brass opened the door to his sub police station and stood proudly on the threshold. Frank and Cleo watched him before returning to their desks.

“There goes a happy guy,” said Cleo.

“You and Gary seem to have a habit of making people happy, Cleo.”

“Do you know, Frank. I’ve never been happier than I am now, and I hope I speak for Gary, too. It must be catching.”

Right on cue, Gary phoned, merely to say “je t’aime” and that he would be late for lunch but would work at home during the afternoon so he could babysit.

“’Moi aussi’,” replied Cleo. “Brass is in his castle, Gary.”

“I’ll phone him and wish him luck.”

“That’s a great idea. He needs to talk to you about the bungalow.”

Turning to Frank, Cleo said “You didn’t think this was some tin-pot business, I hope. I work closely with the cops and I was working with Mr Hurley before … well, things developed from there. I can’t afford to have chaos reigning!”

“Actually, I was comparing your efficiency with my own lack of it,” said Frank apologetically.

At that moment Cleo decided that Frank was not an affectionate person and probably preferred a cool approach, so she would do him that favour.

“Have you worked for a woman before, Frank?”

“No,” he answered, somewhat startled that Cleo probably knew he had reservations.

“Well, sexism, religious bias, ageism and racism are not allowed here, so let’s start as we mean to go on, and I mean that with the best possible intentions.”

“You’re right, Cleo. Sorry if I gave that impression.”

“No harm done, Frank. Get the PC fixed how you want it, write the reports on your work this morning and post them to the cloud. I’ll edit them at home so that I can decide what’s going to HQ on the current cases. We can’t have the cops delving into our work gratuitously.”

“Not even Mr Hurley?”

“Not even him, but he gets to know everything that’s relevant to a case. I wish he was as forthcoming with me as I am with him, but he’s learning!”

“I’ll print the reports out for you, shall I?”

“For Dorothy and the archive, please. Dorothy’s reaction is often valuable and she likes to have things black on white. We could also listen to the recording if there’s time, but a written account is needed as well as a digital report.”

“I hope I haven’t been too forthcoming in the interview,” said Frank, hoping that he could prevent the recording from being aired if he got the report done before suppertime. “I’ll go to my lodgings this afternoon if that’s OK with you, Cleo.”

“Take your time, Frank. I’m going to see the pub owner in Huddlecourt Minor this afternoon. Dorothy is going with me. We’ll tell you what we achieved this evening at supper.”

Cleo looked at her watch and announced that she now really had to hurry home.

“If anyone important calls, please let me know.”

“Will do… and thanks, Cleo. I’m glad I’m here.”

“I’m glad you’re here, Frank.”