Episode 23 - The end is the beginning

Saturday 

With all the crime-solving keeping Dorothy busy, she found it quite hard to concentrate on the Spiritual Revue and was glad that the cast had taken over and were ready to enthral the audience.

A week before the first performance, tickets for the Spiritual Revue were selling well and there was a promise of a full house and an invitation to take the show to a big Middlethumpton venue that did not belong to Mr Cobblethwaite and the town hall.

***

But when everything is really going well, something untoward usually happens, at least, that’s what Dorothy maintains and that would include the Revue, starting with the cast throwing out the stage director. That had been an omen, Dorothy had said. Cleo told her she was calling up devils with that sort of talk, but Dorothy was sure something disagreeable was going to happen.

***

On Friday evening, Dorothy had been in good form at the dinner party. On Saturday morning she rang Cleo before breakfast. She was really upset.

“It’s off!” she declared without preamble.

“What’s off, Dorothy? Calm down!”

“All that hard work was for nothing,” she moaned.

“Why don’t you just tell me what you are talking about?”

“The Revue,” Dorothy cried. “It’s off.”

“Why? What has happened?”

“Robert has broken his leg, Cleo.”

“How careless of him, but legs aren’t needed for singing.”

“He’s in hospital, and when he comes out he’ll be on crutches, and that might not be for another three weeks.”

“What about the shop?”

“Never mind the shop. Someone from the butcher’s guild or something like that will stand in for him. What about the show, Cleo?”

“You’ll have to postpone it, Dorothy, but you did not need to phone me to tell me that.”

“Can you do it, Cleo?”

“Me?”

“You are so good at organizing everything.”

“Thanks, but it’s really your baby, Dorothy. I have enough to do looking after mine here.”

“But you will help, won’t you?” whined Dorothy.

Cleo knew that tone of voice. Dorothy was at the end of her tether. She would have to help.

“OK. I’ll phone the local radio station and tell them the show is being postponed because of an injury to the leading singer, shall I?”

“That would be marvellous. Thank you.”

“But I want you to phone the Gazette, Dorothy. Tell them tickets can be exchanged for cash or vouchers for the revue and the date will be announced later. That’s what I’m going to tell the radio guys.”

“What about the rehearsal next Wednesday?” Dorothy wanted to know. “It’s the final one.”

“It has to go ahead so that you can tell everyone what has happened all over again, although they will have read the Gazette and listened to local radio. Maybe someone can stand in for Robert.”

“But there’s no one quite like Robert. I don’t think this Revue will ever happen.”

Cleo did not want to comment on that declaration. Trust Robert to upset the applecart. He was a complete pain in the arse. But she had to comfort Dorothy, she realized.

“Tell me how it happened, Dorothy!”

“He fell off a ladder.”

“He doesn’t usually do things like that.”

“Edith told me about it last night.”

“Edith?”

“Robert was cleaning his living-room window from the outside last night when Edith shook the ladder. He apparently looked down and saw it was her and got such a shock that he lost his balance and fell.”

“That woman was making mischief again!”

“Not deliberately, Cleo.”

“Only a dimwit would shake a ladder when someone is on it.”

“Edith probably only wanted to get his attention.”

“I thought that chapter would be closed after he ran away from her at our wedding.”

“Edith is persistent,” said Dorothy.

“You needn’t tell me that. What did she want at the shop after opening hours, anyway,” Cleo asked. “I think I’ll call Robert at the hospital. Don’t call the Gazette before I get back to you,” said Cleo. “Maybe he can sing next week, after all.”

Dorothy had to make do with that solution to a most pressing problem.

***

“What was all that about?” said Gary, helping PeggySue to eat her cereal with a lot of one-for-you-and-one-for-me type encouragement. “Robert again, I heard. Can’t that guy get out of our lives, Cleo?”

“Edith was stalking him when he was cleaning windows, shook his ladder and he fell off. He’s in the hospital with a broken leg. Dorothy is very distressed.”

“What was he doing up a ladder?”

“Cleaning the upstairs windows from the outside.”

“In the dark?”

“I suppose so.”

“If you ask me, it’s a good thing Dorothy has an excuse to put off that ill-fated show.”

“It’s only being postponed, and maybe not even that. I’m going to phone Robert and ask him about his injury. Dorothy only heard what had happened from Edith.”

“It beggars belief. Edith was actually stalking Robert again.”

“I’ll feed the twins first,” said Cleo. “I need time to decide what to say to the guy.”

“I’ll phone Robert,” Gary offered. “I know what to say to him.”

“Don’t be too hard on him.”

“I’ll be as gentle as a lamb, Cleo.”

Grit had heard the dialogue and came into the dining-room to find out what it was all about. Cleo explained in a few words and Grit took over giving her granddaughter her breakfast.

“Thanks Gary! I’m glad I don’t have to talk to him myself.”

“So am I,” said Gary reaching for the house phone, “though I’ve got better things to do than talk to your ex.”

***

Gary phoned Middlethumpton General Hospital. That’s where everyone ended up these days, there being no hospital anywhere nearer.

“Robert, this is Gary. I hear you’re laid up,” Gary started.

“Yes,” replied Robert. “I’ve broken my blasted leg.”

“Can you walk?”

“I hope they can make that possible, Gary. I have a revue to sing.”

“Good lad. I knew Dorothy was exaggerating.”

“I expect you know how I came to break my leg – below the knee, by the way.”

“Yes. You don’t seem to be able to shake Edith off, Robert.”

“I hope she’ll stay away now. I think she was as shocked as I was.”

“Don’t bet on it, Robert. Can you phone Dorothy and reassure her? She’s about to cancel the show.”

“She mustn’t do that, Gary. Stop her, please. I’ll phone her when the doctor’s been. My plaster is only temporary at the moment from A & E. I’ll get one I can walk on and then I can go home on crutches.”

“That won’t stop you singing, will it?”

“Nothing can stop me singing, Gary. Thanks for phoning.”

***

In the meantime, Cleo was feeding the twins. Gary said he would phone Dorothy with the news that it was not even half as bad as she had thought. He would then go to the office to meet Roger. He planned to talk to Frank Wetherby after the Mortimer questioning.

No sooner had Gary finished phoning Dorothy than the phone rang again. This time it was Frank.

“I hope you don’t have any bad news, Frank.”

 “Unfortunately I do, Gary. Do you remember Lizzie Palmer’s neighbour? That’s the woman Mia Curlew talked to.”

“A mine of gossip and nothing else, as far as I remember from Mia’s report.”

“Well, she phoned me in a panic and I dashed to the block. The postman rings the doorbell of any flat that’s to get something that does not fit into the letterbox. That way, less gets stolen.”

“I know that house, Gary. Full of gangsters and gangsters’ molls.”

“Anyway, the postman must have rung Lizzie’s doorbell several times then rung the neighbour’s bell to leave a big envelope with her. The neighbour has a key of Lizzie’s flat in case of emergencies and wanted me to support her. So we went to look for Lizzie because Lizzie never went out before about 11 o’clock, so she must still be at home.”

“Make it short, Frank. I have to get to the office.”

“Lizzie is dead, Gary. Suicide. She swallowed enough of those poisoned vitamin pills to kill herself. The box was empty. It had contained 100 tablets and I had only taken a few out of about half of the tablets that were still in the box.”

“Poor woman!”

Gary thought of the garish clothes she had been wearing the one time he had met her. She cared enough to dress up for Harry, though he was dead.

“She was wearing the regalia she had on when I took her to HQ. I found a suicide note, Gary. Nicely sealed in an envelope. Harry Palmer’s suicide note was also in the envelope.”

“It beggars belief. Can you read them to me?”

“Lizzie simply says she is sorry, but life without Harry is not worth living. The note is not addressed to anyone. Lizzie might have been alone in the world, unless some relative or other shows up when her death is announced.”

“We’ll deal with that if it happens, Frank. What about Harry’s note?”

“He writes that he knew the vitamin pills were poisoned, but he preferred to die that way to being shot in the back. The Norton Brothers are not mentioned by name, but he writes about not wanting to get mixed up in any more dirty jobs.”

“Does he mention any names? Pooth, for instance?”

“Yes. That’s the guy I met at that slot machine dive, isn’t it? He gave Harry the pills.”

”Assisted suicide,” said Gary. “I wonder who told him to give Harry the pills.”

“Harry wrote that he had had enough of life being haunted by gangsters and Lizzie should open the big envelope that his insurance would send. It contained a life insurance policy, Gary. I opened the envelope the postman had tried to deliver.”

“So he wanted Lizzie to be provided for, Frank. But suicide is not the way forward. Life insurance is not paid out if the client has committed suicide. I think that was why she was so insistent about Harry having a heart complaint that could kill him at any moment. She probably knew about the life insurance.”

“That explains why Lizzie did not mention suicide, I expect,” said Frank.” She must have known all the time about the insurance conditions, but in the end she was a decent soul and could not live with her conscience.”

“So she chose what was to her the only way out. A tragic end,” said Gary.

“I wish I could have helped her.”

“Don’t think any more about it, Frank. You are not responsible. Have you called the emergency services?”

“Yes. They are here. They’ll take Lizzie to the pathology lab.”

“OK. On the evidence of the suicide notes and I can close the Harry Palmer case. Thanks for helping, Frank. I’m sure Cleo would want you to take the rest of the weekend off.”

“What would I want?” said Cleo, who had heard the end of the conversation.

“For Frank to take time off. He is quite cut up, Cleo. Harry’s wife has committed suicide and we can now be sure that Harry also took his own life, though he was supplied with the means to do it by a Mr Pooth, who is (and we knew that but could never pin anything on him before) an assistant of the Norton Brothers.”

“You’ll never prove anything, Gary.”

“We’ll try, Cleo, but the Palmer case can be closed.”

“There’s something unsatisfactory about people ending their own lives,” said Cleo. “It’s as if they want to murder their autobiographies.”

“They certainly cut them short,” said Gary. “Harry Palmer must have become a burden on the Nortons if they wanted him dead. But it didn’t even come to that. I suspect that he actually asked Pooth for those pills and then probably swallowed a large dose of digitalis at the pub. That would explain the symptoms of a heart attack. He left a suicide note. Lizzie put it in an envelope together with her own.”

“What you have just described could be what happened, or the suicide note was forced if Pooth threatened to deal with Lizzie otherwise.”

“Chris will confirm the cause of death.”

“Almost a perfect murder again,” said Cleo. “Disguised as a suicide this time.

“It would not be the first time. I’m glad you don’t want to dispose of me.”

“Who says I don’t?”

“You married me.”

“For your fortune!”

“What fortune?”

“The twins, for instance.”

“I can go with that if you leave me all your money.”

“I could leave you a few debts, too, Sweetheart.”

“That’s a trick to stop me getting the good bits.”

“You can have them now, if we give the boys names so that they stop being one and two. I’ve been subconsciously calling them Teddy and Tommy, but their Daddy has to approve before I go public.”

“Go on!”

“I want to call them Teddy and Tommy because those names are easy to call out. You can’t mistake one for the other.”

“So which is which? The babies look identical to me.”

“Teddy smiles a lot.”

“Wind!”

“Tommy frowns a lot.”

“Indigestion.”

“You are the limit, Gary. Let’s ask Charlie which baby is which.”

Charlie appeared carrying her sports bag. Grit was going to take her to the hockey match since no one else was available, though Gary declared that he would do his best to be there.

“Which is which what?” asked Charlie.

“Which of your brothers is Teddy, and which one is Tommy?”

They all looked solemnly at the babies on the bed and Charlie said “That’s Tommy. He’s in a bad mood, again,” as she picked him up. Tommy nestled comfortably in her arm, but continued to frown.

“And the other one is Teddy. He laughs all the time.”

Gary gathered Teddy up and looked at him closely. There was no sign of a frown.

“See what I mean?” said Charlie.

“I give up,” said Gary. “You all have my blessing. I’ll go to HQ now and see if we can wind up the Mortimer fiasco.”

“Is he a clock, Daddy?” Charlie asked.

“No. But look at your watch. You should get going now or they’ll start the match without you and my mother!”

“You’d better move, too, Gary,” said Cleo. “I’ll still be here when you get back. Let’s hope you can at least have a free Sunday. I’d quite like to play Happy Families again.”

“Me too, my love. We have some catching up to do.”

***

When Gary had left, Cleo called Cheryl Archer. She would have to tell her about Polly Spencer’s arrest and apologize for being uncommunicative.

***

“Cheryl”

“Cleo, is it true?”

“What?”

“That Polly Spencer has been arrested?”

“How do you know?”

“The whole disco knows. I suppose someone knows what goes on at HQ and spilled the beans.”

“Steve Foster is in the clear, Cheryl.”

“I guessed that, otherwise he’d hardly be running around free or …”

“Or?”

“I went on a date with him, Cleo. Should I have asked you first?”

“You did not know if he was a killer or not, Cheryl. Wasn’t that taking a risk?”

“We didn’t go anywhere quiet. He told me the whole story about his relationship with Polly.”

“Wow! What did he say?”

“That she had played up to him and he had been suspicious when she decided to resume their affair.”

“He should have told the police that.”

“I told him that, but he said he had only had hints from her and no facts. I thought he was a bit nervous about Polly.”

“Justly so, as it transpires. But it’s all over now and I was as taken in as everyone else,” said Cleo.

“I hope you’ll tell me the whole story one day,” said Cheryl.

“I will. There’ll be other work for you. Frank Wetherby is in charge of the office for a few more weeks and he’ll be glad of a helping hand. He’s quite a dish, too.”

“I can’t wait to meet that dish, Cleo!”

“What about Steve Foster?”

“A boring macho.”

“You have to tame machos, Cheryl.”

“Some aren’t worth the effort, Cleo.”

“Some are! I have brand new twins to prove that.”

“Oh, I was so busy with myself that I forgot. You got married, too, didn’t you?”

“Just eight hours before the twins arrived.”

“Goodness. Congratulations! Did the birth go well?”

“Like greased lightning, Cheryl,” said Cleo. “Keep in touch!”

“I will.”

***

Gary’s thoughts were on Mortimer as he drove to HQ. He wished that he had Cleo at his side. It would be hard to pin Mortimer down. As Cleo had so often done, he would try shock tactics. Catching a perpetrator off-guard often led to a total giveaway. It was worth a try and had already been successful with the Spencers.

***

Roger suggested that they hold the questioning in Gary’s office, which was better equipped technically than the formal office on management level. They would screen the event as video-conferencing so that Cleo could watch it from home. Gary phoned Cleo to get the all clear. She would get the gear going and record the event for future reference, but did not accept the offer of asking questions herself as she was sure the two cops would get it right.

Mortimer was brought in between guards. He was handcuffed and furious.

“Remove the bracelets, please,” Gary commanded. “But stay here. We don’t want our friend doing a bunk!”

“Damn you. I want to go home.”

“Where is home, Mr Mortimer? At 27 Lilac Way or in Dijon at Mme Rocher’s apartment?” Gary said.

Mortimer was startled.

“I visited Dijon for a few days, Mr Mortimer,” Gary explained. “Mme Rocher told me about your affair. Congratulations. She’s a nice lady!”

“What’s it to you?”

“Everything,” said Gary.

Roger nodded to Gary to carry on.

Nigel chewed the end of his biro.

“It reveals the motive for killing your wife and her two boys, Mr Mortimer.”

“I have not killed anyone,” said Mortimer.

“If you were James, that would probably be true, but you are John Mortimer, aren’t you?”

“What if I am? That doesn’t make me a killer.”

“It does, Mr Mortimer.”

Mortimer was curious but still exhibiting bravado.

“If we can’t get you on the Lilac Way murders, we’ll get you on the murder of your brother,” said Gary.

“Is he dead?”

“Dead as a doornail, Mr Mortimer. He was poisoned, smothered, and shot. Like to see a photo?”

Gary did not wait for an answer, but whipped out the photo taken in the old factory. John Mortimer tried not to show any reaction.

“A bullet in the arm is not normally a cause of death, of course. Pierre Ford has just sent a message to confirm that the bullet wound was superficial.”

“Who the hell is Pierre Ford?” Mortimer asked. “Do I have to listen to all this twaddle?”

“In fact, the bullet wound was only inflicted after death, so there was almost no bleeding. That made me wonder why the shot was fired. I decided that the gun owner wanted to shoot his victim in the heart, but had been nervous. Maybe he still had the vision of his shot family before him. I still don’t quite understand why he want to shoot someone in the heart who was already dead. That was taking an unnecessary risk.”

“You’d have to prove that any of that was me,” said Mortimer. “I don’t possess a pistol.”

“I’m sure you do,” said Gary. “You would not traffic drugs without having a weapon with which to defend yourself if need be.”

“What drugs?”

“The ones you smuggle in those model train packages, Mr Mortimer.”

“It’s time customs woke up to what is happening under their noses,” said Roger. “Fortunately, my colleague has very shrewd assistants, Mortimer.”

“It was my brother. I did not know about the heroin.”

“So it was heroin, was it? I didn’t mention heroin.”

“Damn you,” said Mortimer.

The rest was plain sailing. Mortimer had already admitted to being John. Gary told him his brother must have been dead for a week.

“What day did you do it, Mortimer? Wednesday?”

No answer.

“It really does not matter now. You killed him presumably because he did not want to help you escape the consequences of your murders at home. Tell us why you killed those three people, Mortimer. My assistant would like to know the motive.”

“My brother fathered those two boys,” said Mortimer at last.

“So they had to die, did they?” said Gary. “What sort of logic is that, Mortimer? Haven’t you heard that children are the result, not the cause of affairs of the heart? How do you know they were your brother’s kids? It was long before your time, I assume.”

“I found photos of him and her together about ten years ago. Then I lost touch with my wife for some years.”

“But she was not your wife then, was she?” said Roger. “And neither of them confessed to the parentage of the boys.”

“My wife did, but not my brother.”

“But that was not a reason to kill them or your brother. Their affair was over before you met her again.”

Mortimer was off-guard.

“She told me she could go back to my brother any day. They had never stopped their affair.”

“So why did she marry you?”

“Because my brother is already married and cannot divorce the wife he supports in a mental institution. Heard enough?”

“That will do for now, Mortimer, though none of what you told me is a reason for killing. Stand up!”

The guards pulled Mortimer up.

“I arrest you for the murder of James Mortimer, your brother, and of your wife and her two sons; anything you say can be used as evidence against you.”

“I’ve said enough,” said Mortimer.

“My colleagues will be intrigued to hear a confirmation of their suspicion that you knew who the father of those boys was, Mr Mortimer, and yet you married the woman who had had an affair with your brother all those years ago and was taunting you with her continued affair. Was your marriage to her part of the plan to kill them? What sort of guy are you? Jealous? Impotent?”

Gary knew he was now taunting John Mortimer. Cleo would not have approved.

“Was it revenge, Mr Mortimer, or just good, old-fashioned hatred? After all, Miss Scott was not married when you had your affair with her all those years ago. You could have married her then.”

“She went off with my brother.”

“She did not marry him, Mr Mortimer.”

“Those two kids were bastards. I did not do her the favour of adopting them.”

“Is that the reason she married you, Mortimer? Did she want a bit of respectability?”

“That bit of respectability cost her and her children their lives, Mortimer,” said Roger. “Did she challenge you about your liaison with Mme Rocher, or did your brother tell her?”

“Is that why he had to die, too?” Gary asked.

“Let’s assume that you wanted to tidy things up before starting a new life with your lovebird in Dijon,” said Roger. Turning to Gary he said “Leave it there. We’ve heard more than enough.”

Mortimer was led out. He would be detained to await trial. They would need his arrest cell at HQ so he would be kept in one of the regular prisons nearby. It would be weeks if not months before Mortimer could stand trial.

“Mortimer was said not to have known about the boys till after he married their mother. That was in Frank’s report on the neighbours, But it can’t be true, can it?” said Gary.

“Neighbours gossip, Gary. I always take their evidence with a pinch of salt,” said Roger. “But the case is solved now, and that’s the main thing.”

***

The phone rang. It was Cleo.

“Congratulations, Gary. You were first class!”

“I have a good tutor,” said Gary. “I’ll be home to her in half an hour.”

“I’ll wait,” said Cleo.

***

Dorothy was delighted that Robert was going to sing after all. The Spiritual Revue was rescued. With flowing cloak and leaning on a suitable cruck-stock, Robert would bring the house down, she told Cleo over the phone.

“At last,” said Cleo. “The stop and go of that show was starting to get on my nerves.”

“Oh dear, but just wait till you hear my plans for the next show…”

Cleo held the phone at arm’s length while Dorothy expounded her new plans………

***

“Let’s face it, Cleo,” said Gary, adding another log to the cosy fire before sitting next to his wife and Charlie on the sofa and covering all their knees with the plaid. “Dorothy is a glutton for punishment.”

“What’s a glutton, Daddy…?”