Episode 2 - Brass

Wednesday cont. into Thursday

Gary was quite relieved that Cleo was not going to be called out on someone’s wild goose chase. It was Brass, the copper he had head-hunted from Frint-on-Sea. Things had been chaotic in North Wales and Brass had found it impossible to get away sooner, he explained.

“I’ve arrived at last, Gary.”

“Great. Did you find the B + B easily?”

“Yes. It’s nice here.”

“Are your children looked after?”

“They are at my mother-in-law’s, Gary. They’ll stay there until I’ve found us somewhere to live.”

“Can you come to Cleo’s office in Upper Grumpsfield for ten tomorrow morning, Brass?”

“Glad to, if you tell me where it is.”

The route from Brass’s lodgings was soon explained and Brass declared that he was looking forward to working in this part of the world. “There’ll be no innuendoes in a foreign tongue,” he said. “That alone is a good reason for being here.”

“I hope you like it here, Brass,” said Gary, laughing. “You’re right. There aren’t many Welshmen around. And they all speak English.“

Gary knew exactly what Brass meant. The Welsh had a knack of making the English feel foreign. He felt more at home in France. At least he spoke some of their language.

“I will! Good night!”

***

Thursday March 20

Cleo and Gary studiously avoided talking shop on Wednesday evening, although Cleo was curious about Brass’s reaction to being informed that plans had changed, although there was no doubt that Middlethumpton HQ was preferable to the chaotic police constabulary in Frint-on-Sea that had up to the exposure of the criminal doings there been left almost entirely to Fred Bradley, alias Brass, whose integrity had been smothered by bumptious sergeant with far-reaching criminal energy..

***

“Does Brass know about the sub-police station?” she asked Gary.

“Not yet. I’m glad Roger helped to get the idea off the ground.”

“I offered you my second office a while back, remember?”

“But that was when I was going to quit being a policeman.”

“Are you now reconciled with HQ after all?”

“Yes, on reflection I am. Life has picked up since we started our new life together,” said Gary. “Roger thinks it’s a good idea to open a sub-police station here. He’s not just appeasing me.”

***

Roger Stone was Gary’s superior at HQ and a good friend. Gary had supported Roger in his darkest hours coping with a wife who committed murder to maintain her own status quo. But the idea of a sub police station was not doing a friend a favour, but addressing a serious lack of personal contact to the public. The idea of a policeman being ‘your friend and helper’ had become too old-fashioned. The game of beating the police and escaping arrest was lucrative and anyone could play in ‘when the cat’s away…..’ style.

“Roger Stone must have used some very convincing arguments among his peers, Gary. His colleagues always want support for their schemes, but Mr Stone has often come away empty-handed.”

“I would not want his job,” said Gary. “We cops are not managers by instinct.”

“I had noticed,” said Cleo. “Roger did not manage his own private life very well, either, did he?

Gary thought back in anger to the days when he was friendly if not enamoured of his female assistant, a perky policewoman, only to discover that she was too-timing him with Roger.

“Anyway, Dorothy will be thrilled,” continued Cleo. “She has been arguing for police presence here ever since she returned from London.”

“I’m not sure we can stop crime, but we can warn a few people off killing their neighbours.”

“I hope so. Police presence might have prevented a few recently,” said Cleo, who lacked conviction about people with a surfeit of criminal energy being able to behave decently.

“As a cop, I don’t like being called a deterrent, but that’s what we are, Cleo, except when we come up against really clever criminals. They carry on regardless.”

“That’s where we private sleuths come in,” said Cleo. “It took a while, but now you realize that we are worth our weight in gold.”

“You said it! We can find Brass somewhere to live near here, can’t we?”

“I hear that the Crightons are moving out to be nearer the mental home that is housing their homicidal son.”

“I thought they said he wasn’t their son. First they disown him and then they want to be close to him. That does not make sense,” said Gary.

“I suppose it does to them. Maybe they have guilty conscience.”

“Why?”

“Because they ignored the signs, Gary.”

“What signs?”

“His oddness and the way he frightened people, as if that was sport,” said Cleo. “By the way, you owe me a hug!”

“I owe you my life,” said Gary. “My I ask what for?”

“If we can get the Crighton’s bungalow that will be the reason.”

“Backwards thinking, Cleo. Not if. When!”

“I think you underestimate Mrs Crighton. She’s appallingly racist.”

“But he husband is nice and he probably calls the tune.”

“Husbands seldom call the tune, Gary.”

***

The Crightons were packing when Cleo phoned.

“Yes?” snapped Mrs Crighton down the line.

“Cleo Hartley here,” said Cleo, holding the handset away from her ear.

“It’s too early for a phone-call from a foreigner, Miss Hartley,” shouted Mrs Crighton, a congenitally bad-tempered woman who had been fiercely attached to her son in the past. But when it became clear that Betjeman Crighton was a dangerous nutcase, the son’s genesis became a mystery. After blaming her husband for his bad genes, Mrs Crighton now claimed in the wake of his arrest a year or so previously and ensuing life sentence at a secure mental institution that he was only adopted. Mr Crighton was nervous about telling such an untruth, but Mrs Crighton had repeated the adoption story so often that she now believed it.

Cleo tended to take people as she found them. The Crightons had good reason to deny a blood relationship with Betjeman, she decided. It could not be easy to admit to spawning a murderer who was also as mad as a hatter. However, Cleo was determined to be polite so as to take possession of the bungalow. She could not think of another reason, though she sympathised with Mr Crighton.

“Can I rent your bungalow?” she asked.

“Is your cottage falling down then?” retorted Mrs Crighton. “I saw there was scaffolding propping it up.”

“We’re enlarging a couple of rooms for the children,” explained Cleo.

“Oh”, said Mrs Crighton as her husband could be heard wrenching the handset from his wife.

“Who is that, please?” he said.

“It’s Cleo Hartley, Mr Crighton. I want to rent your bungalow.”

“We’re selling it, Miss Hartley.”

“A new colleague needs somewhere to live straightaway and will have to decide if it’s big enough, so we don’t yet know who will be buying it. We can sign contracts agreeing to a sale and until it goes through we’ll pay rent.”

“That sounds reasonable,” said Mr Crighton. ”It would save us a lot of fuss and bother.”

“That’s what I thought, Mr Crighton,” said Cleo. “When are you moving out?”

“This afternoon, Miss Hartley. We hope that Betjeman can visit us if we live nearby. He’s like a son to us even if he is only adopted.”

Cleo rightly assumed that Mr Crighton had been indoctrinated to dwell on the adoption tack whenever possible. She did not comment.

“I’ll come round now then, shall I?” she offered. “I’ll bring a rental contract and a short contract to say that we are buying the house. Will that be alright?”

“The removal men are not coming until after midday, Miss Hartley.”

“Can you cancel your deal with the house-agent?”

“We haven’t got one. We were just going to advertise and wait for a buyer.”

“Then you must be relieved to have one so fast.”

“Yes, we are. See you later, then.”

“Yes, Mr Crighton. Thanks again!”

“That’s fixed,” said Cleo. “I’ll download some legal forms on the internet. We’ll sign them, get the Crightons to sign and the deed is done.”

“How much will it all cost? Gary asked.

“A lot less than they are asking, whatever that is,” said Cleo. “They’ll be so thankful to sell so fast that they’ll agree.”

“You are amazing. If I’d been looking for a new wife, I think I’d have chosen you,” said Gary.

“I thought you had.”

“I’ve just had a thought though,” he said. “What if we simply bought the place ourselves and Brass paid rent for it?”

“Are you looking for a home to go to, Gary?”

“Certainly not! Would I be financing our cottage expansion for a family I’m about to desert?”

“That’s a relief. I’ll enter you into the deeds of this cottage and then you will stop being the lodger and start being a house-owner again.”

“Again is rich. I never owned the last house I lived in. It belonged to my wife’s father, but the flat Gloria now lives in is mine, so I’m a flat owner lodging elsewhere.”

“At least we have a new bed now, so you aren’t lodging in a second-hand one.”

“That’s a good reason for getting into it,” said Gary, making for the bedroom.

“Not now. There’s the Crightons to sort out.”

“I’ll wait.”

“Don’t you have work to do?”

“I usually do but there are such things as priorities. I’ll have to postpone Brass, won’t I?”

***

Breakfast at the cottage was always rather hectic. Charlie, Gary’s daughter from his previous marriage, had to catch the bus to Middlethumpton at 8:15. Gary usually left for Headquarters by about 8:30. PeggySue, Cleo and Gary’s little daughter,  had usually been given her first meal of the day well before 7 by her father and was now eating her second one helped by Charlie. Cleo was supposed to be resting for a bit longer since she was expecting twins and ostensibly winding down her professional activities, but she was always on the go by 7:30 since she wanted Charlie to eat something and get Gary to have breakfast rather than the black coffee and unfiltered cigarettes he had made do with in the past.

***

This Thursday morning Charlie left early. She was going to meet Helen and check on homework at the bus stop, so she was on the way out by the time Gary had made a second pot of coffee, having refused a lift to school.

Gary then rang Roger Stone who was the overall head of the crime department at HQ with Gary a step down in charge of the homicide squad. Gary told him that he was meeting Brass in Upper Grumpsfield that morning and would show him the layout of the office he would be using as a sub police station. Could he send Brass along to HQ later to receive formal promotion to Sergeant? He could. Could the IT guy come along and see what had to be done to connect the new station with HQ? He would. Could he come to dinner on Friday evening and meet Brass informally? A definite yes.

Roger thought an informal get-together was a good idea. Could Dorothy also be there? Roger was smitten by Dorothy’s acumen and timing. And yes, he loved Cleo not least because she seemed to have given Gary a new lease of life. Roger liked to have happy people around him. His own life was full of dark patches. Only Gary knew just how dark some of those patches were.

“Roger’s coming to dinner tomorrow,” Gary reported. “Can you invite Dorothy? I’ll invite Brass. It should be a thought-provoking evening.”

“Isn’t Brass going to meet Roger this afternoon?”

“I think he’ll have to so that his promotion to Sergeant is official, but it is rather a pity. I’d have preferred them to meet informally first. Roger can be a bit officious in his office and Brass is a dry old stick when he’s on his guard.”

“Aren’t we all? Are you planning to go to my office with just a bath-towel round your haunches?”

“I could ask the same since you seem to be clad only in your kimono.”

***

Gloria Hartley, whom Gary called his pending mother-in-law from hell, let herself in through the front door shouting “I’m here, folks. Don’t do anything you don’t want me to see.”

“We hadn’t planned to, almost Mother-in-law.”

“But you aren’t dressed yet!” said Gloria with feigned shock. “Don’t you have to work today?”

“Of course we do. We were about to…”

“Go back to bed?” Gloria ventured.

“Not just yet,” said Gary.

“Don’t tease, Mother!” said Cleo.

Gloria plucked PeggySue from her high chair.

“I hope she’s had enough breakfast,” she said as she carried the child off to get her ready for the nursery.

“Coffee, Mother?” shouted Cleo.

“Just a quick one, please,” Gloria shouted back and presently she reappeared with the little girl.

Gary dashed to get the pushchair unfolded and ready for its illustrious passenger.

“Wow,” said Gloria, watching him. “I do appreciate a nice back.”

“Mother, stop baiting Gary,” said Cleo.

“That’s OK,” he said, turning to her and dropping his towel so that he really was naked.

“You see, Mother-in-law, if you bait me, I’ll bait you.”

Gloria was so crestfallen that they all laughed.

“Well, goodness gracious me…” she stuttered.

“Don’t worry,” said Gary. “We’re practicing for our next holiday. We’re going to a nudist club for a couple of weeks. Want to come with us?”

“Is that true, Cleo?”

“Sure, Mother. I can’t think of anything I’d rather do, and by then I’ll have a nice flat tummy.”

“I’m appalled,” said Gloria.

“Why? Being naked is natural. We weren’t born with clothes on,” said Gary.

“But the climate here is too cold,” said Gloria. “Go get your clothes on, folks. I need to take PeggySue to her nursery before I go to the shop.”

Since Gloria did that nearly every weekday morning, that came as no surprise. Gloria was Robert Jones’s incredibly garrulous saleswoman. He had walked out on Cleo because he thought he had found someone more suitable. Gloria was no longer bothered by the situation. Her success as a saleswoman overrode an y scruples she might have had about working for Cleo’s ex and she was grateful to Robert for clearing off.

“Be sure to tell Robert that we are going to a nudist club in August, Mother, so that you can be scandalised together,” said Cleo.

“You haven’t heard the last of this,” said Gloria, pushing PeggySue’s pushchair towards the front door with more energy than was strictly necessary.

“I’ll hold the door for you,” said Gary, who was still naked.

“Don’t!” Gloria retorted. “I can manage and I don’t want anyone to think this household is debauched.”

Cleo and Gary laughed until the tears ran down their cheeks.

”We’ll have to do it,” said Cleo.

“We will, but I also think it’s a brilliant idea.”

“We should get dressed now,” said Cleo. “Mother’s right about it being cold.”

“All in good time. We have at least half an hour to warm ourselves up. Nigel can get on with the business this morning and Brass is coming after all, though I did not really want him in on the bungalow deal.”

“Why not?”

“He might not live in such a house of disrepute.”

“You can’t blame the house for that profligate son of theirs. Who knows what happened in this cottage. It can’t have survived centuries squeaky clean.”

“I know what’s going to happen now,” said Gary, making his way into the bedroom.

“You really are the limit!”

“Why are you following me then? I just want a cuddle to get warm.”

We’ll keep the drapes closed. We don’t want those builder guys looking in on our decadence.”

“Where are they, anyway?”

“On their way, I hope. I get the feeling that our twins are in a bit of a hurry, which is more than can be said for our builders.”

“I’d better get a cot then,” said Gary. “There’s a new shop called ‘Fathercare’. I’ll go there.”

“It’s not going to be that soon,” said Cleo. “But if you are going to that store I’ll give you a list of everything else we need. You’ll need a stiff drink before you read it.”

“No, Cleo. Just a strong coffee. Sobriety suits me better.”

***

By ten a.m. Gary was dressed and had sprinted to Cleo’s office, aired the rooms and put the coffee machine on. Brass arrived soon after with the IT expert hot on his heels.

“Tom Birch at your service,” he said.

“Nice to meet you, Tom. Have some coffee. I need to explain what’s going on and my new colleague here does not know what it’s all about.”

“Glad to,” said Tom. “Black with sugar, please.”

“This is Sergeant Fred Bradley, Tom, known to everyone as Brass.”

“Hi Brass!”

“Nice to meet you, Tom.”

“How’s Frint-on-Sea these days, Brass?” said Gary.

“Terrible,” said Brass. “But it’s a long story.”

“Then you could tell us all at dinner tomorrow. Will you come?”

“Glad to,” said Brass.

“Tom, would you like to come too? I can see that you are intrigued by Frint-on-Sea.”

“I spent holidays there when I was a kid,” said Tom. “I left all my pocket-money in the fruit machines.”

“All the visitors do,” said Brass.

“I must say that I am intrigued about why you were there, Mr Hurley.”

“The name’s Gary, Tom. I don’t stand on ceremony!”

“OK.”

“That’s settled then. I helped Brass with a case there. I’ll just get the coffee and we can drink to North Wales sunshine and Frint-on-Sea depravity. that. Yours is white with sugar, isn’t it, Brass?”

“Fancy you remembering that.”

“I forget other things,” said Gary. “This morning I forgot to hang on to my bath towel and presented myself to my mother-in-law in my birthday suit. She was so shocked that I told her we were practising for the nudist club we are going to for our summer holiday.”

Tom Birch had heard somewhere that Gary Hurley was a harsh, sarcastic boss. That did not fit in at all with the guy he was talking to. Even Brass only knew Gary as his superior, although Gary had shown great sympathy for him and got him out of the hole he was in at his police station in Frint-on-Sea. Now they all had to laugh about Gary’s mother-in-law’s embarrassment.

“Will she be there tomorrow?” they wanted to know.

“If Cleo – that’s my wife, Tom – asks her and she has time, but that’s not why you are here now, of course.”

“Roger only told me to get here,” said Tom.

“I’ll just phone Cleo and tell her who’s coming to dinner tomorrow,” and did so.

***

“OK. That’s settled. Now let’s look at the premises next door and I’ll explain,” said Gary. “And yes, my wife does know and approves heartily. It was her second office for a time, but she’s happy to give it up.”

Gary led the way to the next block and opened the door of the Cleo’s smaller office.

“Fully equipped, I see,” said Tom.

“It’s going to be a sub-police station and you are going to be in charge, Brass, with the help of colleagues taking turns on a rota basis so that it can be open 24/7 or at least 16/7.”

“I thought I was going to be an assistant somewhere,” said Brass.

“Are you disappointed?” said Gary.

“No. I’m amazed. Thank you for having the confidence in me.”

“I saw you taking responsibility for that awful sergeant, Brass. You are now a sergeant yourself and will be promoted even higher in time. I think you’re the best choice for the job.”

“Congratulations, Brass,” said Tom. “So I’ll be fitting this place out, will I, Gary?”

“Yes. The equipment is my wife’s. You can use what she has not removed and hook this place up to HQ however you think fit. HQ is hiring the office and inventory from Cleo so it would be useful of you made a list of exactly what HQ is getting. Roger Stone and I think that was better than buying new stuff when this has hardly been used. When something breaks down, HQ will replace it and you can order anything that’s missing.”

“That sounds brilliant,” said Tom.

“The key in the door is for you while you’re working here. I have another mission to deal with now, and you’re included, Brass.”

Sergeant Brass was gobsmacked about his new job and of course had no idea what else was in store for him.

“Dinner’s at seven tomorrow, Tom. There are some of my wife’s business cards on the table. Take one. It has our private address on it. I hope you are not a vegetarian.”

“No chance, Gary.”

Tom took out his business cards.

“Here’s my card, Gary. You or your wife might need to contact me. I’ll leave some here for you, Brass, OK?”

“See you at the latest tomorrow for dinner then, Tom.”

“I hope the work here will be finished by then.”

“Let’s just close My wife’s office and we can move on, Brass,” said Gary.

“Where to?”

“Wait and see.”

Gary phoned Cleo again. They would meet at the Crightons’ bungalow in a few minutes. Brass would drive them. Would Cleo walk?***

Cleo strolled to the Crightons’ bungalow that was only two roads away from her cottage. She did not want to get there before Gary, but phoning Dorothy had become a major event given Dorothy’s gift for small-talk, so there was little likelihood of that. Dorothy was delighted to be invited to dinner the following evening, admitting yet again to a soft spot for Roger and wishing she was a decade or so younger. By eleven thirty Cleo had walked to the Crightons and joined Gary and Brass, who had been waiting in Brass’s car out of sight of the residence.

“Nice to see you again, Brass,” said Cleo, giving him a hug.

“I still don’t know what this is about,” said Brass.

“We need to know if you would like to live here,” Cleo explained, pointing to the Crighton bungalow.

“Me?”

“Sure. You have three children. You can’t live at a B & B with a family.”

Mr Crighton opened the door and invited them all in. Cleo introduced Brass and handed Crighton the contracts.

“We hope that Sergeant Bradley will move in here,” said Cleo. “I expect you remember my husband, don’t you?”

“Yes,” said Mrs Crighton, emerging from behind her husband. “You put our adopted son behind bars,” she snapped.

Crighton went to sign the contracts on the table, adding his bank details as instructed on the forms and agreeing on the selling price with Cleo. Then he handed the documents back, keeping duplicates for himself.

“No, I didn’t imprison your son, Mrs Crighton. The judge did that.”

“You caught him,” she said.

“Colleagues brought him in, Mrs Crighton,” said Gary.

“But what if he is innocent?” she said.

“He isn’t innocent. He described what he had done although no one asked him to. Besides that, all the evidence pointed to him.”

“That Jason Finch person was up to no good, anyway. Serves him right,” said Mrs Crighton. “And he was coloured.”

“That’s no way to talk of the dead, Mrs Crighton,” said Cleo, aware of the innuendo, but glad that the contracts had been signed and handed to her. She wanted to tell the obnoxious Mrs Crighton that her son had no right to play executioner whatever someone had done.

“He’s only adopted,” said Mrs Crighton. “No flesh and blood of mine would turn nasty.”

Mr Crighton looked at his wife incredulously.

“Be glad that you will be near him at last, Mrs Crighton,” said Gary in a sympathetic voice, chipping in because he noticed that Cleo was dangerously near giving the woman a dressing down. “I’m sorry it has caused you so much stress. You’ll be happier when you are nearer to him, even if he is only adopted.”

“That’s true, Chief Inspector,” said Mr Crighton. “I just can’t believe that Betjeman could be so wicked.”

“It wasn’t just wickedness, Mr Crighton,” said Cleo, who felt sorry for Mr Crighton, stuck as he was with his awful wife. “His condition was caused by severe mental illness.”

“We should never have adopted him,” said Mrs Crighton.

“Even if he was your own flesh and blood you would still not be responsible for his mental derangement, Mrs Crighton,” said Cleo.

“Oh,” said the woman. “That’s not what I heard about bad genes and so on.”

“I told you that,” said Crighton, though he actually thought the boy took after his mother’s side.

“We’ll leave now and my husband will get cash from the bank and bring it to you as soon as possible, but definitely before you leave. Will that be OK?” said Cleo.

Mr Crighton nodded and showed them out. Mrs Crighton wondered about the Cleo and Gary’s relationship. Wasn’t Miss Hartley married to that butcher chap?

“Doesn’t your husband still run the butcher’s?” she said now.

“We divorced, Mrs Crighton.”

“Oh. Such a nice man,” said Mrs Crighton.

“Not that nice,” corrected Mr Crighton. “Didn’t he seduce the late vicar’s wife?”

Cleo wondered about the speculation that must have been the subject of prolonged village gossip. She decided to give the Crightons something to think about.

“She seduced him more than once, as far as I know, Mr Crighton,” she said. “Some women do that. Others disown their children…”

“And others get in the car,” said Gary, nudging Cleo firmly away from the bungalow.

Gary agreed with Cleo, but she could be very direct and that would not be a good idea until the house deal was complete.

Brass followed, wondering what sort of wasp’s nest he was getting into.

“Forget the Crightons, Cleo,” Gary said. “Mrs C’s a rat and her husband is as weak as water. They really aren’t worth wasting your breath on.”

“I just wanted her to know how awful I think she is,” said Cleo.

“Get the reasoning sociologist out, Cleo,” said Gary. “You don’t usually get irate about such dumb people.”

“Where to now?” asked Brass, eager to change the subject. He was intrigued, but did not like to ask what it was all about.

“Sorry, Brass. You don’t yet know why Cleo is so angry and she does not normally lose her temper. We’ll tell you all about Betjeman Crighton another time,” said Gary. “Right now it would be a help if you could drive us to a cash machine. There’s one outside the Wellness Centre.”

Gary directed the way and Cleo was glad they were in a strange car. She had no desire to get involved with Henry, the sycophantic sports assistant, or any of the girls on duty. Gary drew out the cash they needed and they drove back to the Crighton bungalow. Gary gave Mr Crighton the rent for the current month. Mr Crighton signed the bank withdrawal receipt as proof that the rent, a generous sum Cleo had set to make sure the Crightons would not back out, had been paid. They would make a standing order for future months. Gary told him he thought they could organize buying the bungalow within six months. Half the rent would count as down-payments on the bungalow. Mr Crighton said he was satisfied with that solution and sure that everything would go smoothly. He was sorry for his comment about their living arrangements. He had not wanted to upset anyone. Gary said it was all right, they were really only setting the record straight, wished the Crightons luck and took his leave.

“Can you stay for lunch, Brass?” said Cleo.

“I’m coming to dinner tomorrow, Cleo!”

“But you have to eat today, too, and I’d like you to meet my mother.”

Gary looked urgently at Brass as they got out of the car at Cleo’s cottage. Brass understood that he was not to say that Gary had told the story of his nudity, but Cleo got in first and told him her mother had problems with naked men.

“I wasn’t planning to undress,” said Brass.

“That’s a relief,” said Cleo. “I suppose you told Brass about that incident, didn’t you, Gary?”

“Well…” he started to reply.

Cleo was still enjoying that scene. She went into the cottage ahead of the two men.

“Look what I’ve brought you, Mother,” she called out, “two naked men!”

Gloria appeared with PeggySue on her arm. Seeing that the two men were fully dressed, she nodded faintly. The joke was on her.

***

Brass was overwhelmed. All through lunch he repeated how grateful he was for the kind reception and said how nervous he was about his appointment with Roger.

Comforted by the knowledge that his promotion was rock solid, Brass eventually said he would push off to his B&B, take a quick shower and change. His meeting with Roger Stone was at three-thirty. Gary promised to be in his office at HQ by the time Brass and Roger had finished their discussion. They could then meet in Gary’s office to discuss anything he needed to know more about, or they could relax and drink coffee together.