Episode 6 - Be prepared (for anything)

Thursday cont.

It would have been unfair of Gary not to want Dorothy to have any part in what was about to happen at Pensioner’s Purgatory, which was Gary’s new name for the OAP home. So Cleo phoned her colleague and asked if she would like to see the fire brigade at work. She would, as long as it was not her cottage that was on fire. Dorothy was a fast walker, so she manged to get to the home just before the fire brigade.

***

On the phone, Gary had explained to the fire brigade that there was no fire, no cat up a tree, no elderly dementia patient on the roof, and no wolf scavenging in the home dustbins. If they would just bring a crane to get an object out of an old wine tank, that would do for now and there was no particular urgency so they could take their time, which of course they did. But eventually the red fire-engine entered the courtyard noisily and the team climbed out, shouting to one another as they coped wth the crane they had brought along. It didn’t usually have to go into cellars anywhere, so it wasn’t really suitable, but it was the only one they had, so with a bit of dismantling and improvising they managed to get the object down the cellar steps and re-mounted to their satisfaction.

“What kind of an object did you mention?” the fire chief had wanted to know when Gary phoned. He introduced himself as Walter who did not want to get to the altar, calling on an old musichall number to break the ice. He had then sung a couple of phrases.

Gary waited.

“Sorry about that, Inspector,” Walter said eventually. “You’ve no idea how many times I have had to tell people that I am a different Walter. We’ll be there in a jiffy.”

***

Waiting for the fire-brigade, Gary found himself singing that song, much to Cleo’s consternation. She had listened in to some of the phone-call and already decided the guy was probably a bit bonkers.

“What made you do that?” she said.

“Walter, the fire guy.”

“Do you feel OK?”

“You missed that part of the phone-call. It’s just an old song Walter sang,” he explained, and Ned proceeded to join in and give Cleo a sample of his vocal helplessness.

“You guys could use voice lessons,” said Cleo.

“Walter will be here soon,” said Gary.

“Well don’t sing at him!” advised Chris, who was highly amused.

***

Dorothy had arrived at the scene in time to open the wrought iron gate for the fire engine, which was immediately followed by an ambulance. Mrs Peel stood at the the main door disapproving of the antics getting the crane into the home.

“There’s no fire here,” she called. “I didn’t order you.”

“The inspector did, Ma’am,” said Walter.

“I’ll deal with them,” said Dorothy.

Without taking any further notice of Mrs Peel, who marched to the gate to shut it, Dorothy led Walter into the home. He knew where the cellar was. They’d always bought their plonk there in the old days when there’d been an off-licence. His team mates followed with bits of crane.

Mrs Peel ran back from the gate and took up position at the cellar door.

“Just carry on, Mrs Peel,” said Dorothy, before she went down the cellar steps.

Mrs Peel carried on looking and shouting “mind my walls”. She was agitated.

***

When everything was set up fpr action, Walter consulted with Gary, looke at the wine tanks and said they had been there sincee the hotel was built. He did not question the information Gary had given him. A fire chief has a status, but an Inspector of Police is a higher authority and Walter respected authority.

The crane was wound up to hover over the tank. There was a hand-winding device at the bottom of the crane, and a claw at the end of a sturdy rope at the top, with a mechanism to open and shut the claw.

“Does that work?” Dorothy wanted to know.

“Yes, Ma’am,” said Walter. “We use it for dogs in holes in the ground. Now where is the little bugger?”

Dorothy recoiled.

Cleo was surprised at the mixture of courteousness and coarseness.

“There are no buggers here,” said Dorothy.

“Want a bet, Mrs?” said Walter.

“It’s Miss,” said Dorothy.

***

Gary decided to leave Dorothy to carry on a dialogue with Walter, who was now quite officious as he realized that he should demonstrate that he was in charge of operations. He was used to busybodies like Dorothy. Surely she wasn’t from the police. The inspector seemed to be in favour of her getting mixed up in this job. He would have to watch his language, he thought.

***

Walter climbed the metal rungs, raised the cover and made sure it could not drop back into position, peered into the tank, nodded that there was someone in there, and announced that Olli, a small insignifant guy  who was in awe of Walter, could wind and be quick because of the stink. The third member of the team, a muscular if somewhat vacantly staring guy answering to the name Sid was too lowly in rank to be allowed to join in. His usefulness was mainly his superior strength that made carrying bits of crane a push-over. He knew his place now and withdrew to a corner from where he could view the crane at work. One day he would take over from Olli when Walter got too old, but Sid’s day had not yet come.

With Walter making hand-signs to demonstrate the opening and shutting of the claw, it was sunk into the tank and presently Walter called “got it, Olli”.

Olli clamped the claw and started to wind.

“Bloody ‘eavy,” said Olli.

“Mind your language,” said Walter. “We have ladies present. Get Sid to wind a bit.”

That was almost promotion. Sid joined in eagerly with the winding.

The ladies now included Mrs Peel, who had abandoned her post and come to watch the goings on. Cleo observed Mrs Peel, but could not detect any emotion. Did Mrs Peel know what was going on? No one had told her anything. On the other hand, she might be taking pains not to give herself away.

When the claw had reached its full height, the object, which was quite clearly a corpse, dangled over the tank dripping wine, swaying precariously. It was a macabre sight. Mrs Peel did not look away.

After the body had stopped dripping, Walter gave instructions for the crane to be swung round and lowered. By now Olli had gone to get some fresh ari so the mighty Sid could flex his biceps the do the lowering himself. The claw was opened just above the waiting stretcher and the corpse dropped off quite gently. Chris and Ned arranged the corpse face upwards on the metal blanket that had been used to cover the stretcher and could be wrapped around its dead passenger during transport. The two young paramedics standing by in anticipation looked horrified.

This was Mrs Peel’s moment.

“It’s Mr Barclay,” she said. “How did he get into the tank?”

“You tell us, Mrs Peel,” said Gary.

“He might have been inspecting it and fell in,” she said.

“Or been pushed in,” said Cleo.

“We’ll need to know if he was dead before he got in,” said Chris.

“Have we finished, Sir?” Walter said to Gary.

“You’d better look in the other tank now you’re here,” said Gary.

Olli felt better so he was given the task of moving the stepladder from one tank to the other, after which he was sent up those steps to look inside the tank. Walter trusted the metal rungs enough to clamber up them.

He opened the cover and peered inside, holding his nose.

“It’s too full to see anything,” he shouted. “But the smell isn’t too bad.”

Walter climbed down the rungs and Olli went up the steps to have a look for himself.

“That means there is probably no corpse in it,” said Cleo.

Dorothy had not said a word the whole time.

“Come down, Olli!” Walter shouted. “We’ll empty it then we’ll know for sure.”

“That’s good wine,” said Mrs Peel. “We can’t throw it away."

“I don’t care if it’s liquid gold, Mrs Peel,” said Gary. “Go ahead, Walter. Do what you think has to be done!”

Sid and Olli were sent to the fire engine to fetch the pump and pipe often used to empty old wells and therefore standard equipment.

“Good job there’s drainage in here,” said Walter, as Sid turned the tap on and the wine poured out of the tank and down the drain that was conveniently available and probably used when the tanks were hosed down.

Five minutes later the job was done, Olli was sent up the ladder again to check that the tank was now empty, and was able to relay the news that there was nothing in it.

“That’s a relief,” said Gary.

“Will that be all, Inspector?” said Walter.

“Thank you, boys,” said Gary.

“Can you sign the list, please,” said Olli.

The list contained the actions completed recently. It included two dogs rescued from wells, a cat in a tree, and now the man in the wine tank.

Sid dismantled the crane single-handed.

The paramedics carried the corpse, now lying peaceful, wrapped in his gold metal blanket, to their ambulance, instructed by Chris to take the cargo to the pathology labp at HQ.

Olli and Sid carried the crane back to the fire vehicle. Olli was driving. Walter waved to Mrs Peel like the Queen Mother, and she waved back automatically. She had hurried to open the gate that she had previously shut, as the rules of the house made by herself required. After seeing the ambulance and the fire-engine safely off the premised, she returned to the cellar.

It was not possible to see if Mrs Peel was in shock. She still had a poker face and did not move it a millimetre. Nobody asked her anything. It was getting towards mealtime so she went up the cellar stairs to do her job. Cleo wondered how she would explain the situation to anyone who asked. Sure, she would have to explain that Mr Barclay was the victim, but she would be at a loss to explain how he got into that wine-tank. Or would she…?…

***

Dorothy decided there was nothing more to see-

“Let me know how you get on, Gary” she said. “I’m going to get ready for Vera.”

“Are you still sure you want her to stay here?” said Gary.

“Not if there are any more corpses.”

“I can’t promise that,” said Gary.

Chris, Ned and Gary had all taken photos of the dead Mr Barclay before the paramedics wrapped the metal blanket over him and carried him on the stretcher to their ambulance, As instructed, they would deliver him to HQ in Middlethumpton. They had been glad to get going with their morbid passenger.

Chris and Ned got ready to leave. There was no point in looking for prints and every reason to get back to HQ and perform an autopsy on Mr Barclay.

“I’ve got quite a queue,” said Chris.

“What does this victim bring to mind?” Gary asked.

“If there’s no liquid in the lungs I think it’s a fair bet that he was killed first. He might have been drugged. He might have gone up the ladder to inspect the tank and somebody went up a second ladder and pushed him in. That might have knocked him out with his head above the wine-line.”

“And left him to die?” Cleo asked.

“He may previously have been given a drug that knocked out within minutes rather than seconds. Someone must have known that he wanted to inspect the tank, or had found a way of getting him to go and take a look. Suitably drugged, he could have gone into a coma in the tank and not been able to shout for help.

”That would be assuming he had been pushed in,” said Ned. “There might be prints on the ladder, but they would not prove anything.”

“It’s a weird case,” said Chris. “Rather you than me.”

“I’ll ask Mrs Peel a few questions,” said Gary. “Quite innocuously, of course. She showed no reaction at all. That isn’t human.”

“Let me know how you get on,” said Chris as he and Ned left.

***

“So what do you think?” said Gary.

“I’m not sure,” said Cleo. "Let’s have that chat with Mrs Peel.”

***

Mrs Peel was far from happy that she was having to answer questions.

Gary and Cleo had agreed that they would both ask them. They had no time to prepare, so it was all going to be improvised.

Mrs Peel led them to what had been Mr Barclay’s office.

“Were you having an affair with Mr Barclay?” Cleo almost blurted out, much to Gary’s surprise.

He should not have been surprised. Cleo was a skilled interviewer.

“Oh sorry,” said Cleo. “That’s none of my business, is it?”

“You’re married, aren’t you?” said Gary. “But married people have affairs al lthe time.”

Mrs Peel said she had got married a long time ago and her husband lived far away.

“Where?” said Gary. “I’d like to talk to him.”

Mrs Peel bit her lips.

“You can’t, Inspector,” she said.

“I can if you give me his phone number,” said Gary.

“You are not married to some guy far away, are you?” said Cleo. “Why tell a lie? You know we can find out.”

“Ladies of a certain age like to be thought of as married, divorced or widows,” improvised Mrs Peel.

“And you are quite sure you are single,” said Gary.

“The ‘Mrs’ title gives me authority here,” said Mrs Peel.

“Wasn’t Mr Barclay in charge, Mrs Peel?” Cleo said.

“We were a perfect team,” she said, and Cleo fancied that she had noticed a flutter of emotion in the woman’s demeanour.

“So you must be very sad,” said Gary, wondering what form the affair with Mr Barclay had taken.

 “When you say team, does that mean that you slept with him, Mrs Peel?” Cleo asked.

“Do I have to answer that? It’s private.”

“Nothing is private in murder cases, Mrs Peel. Answer the question, please,” said Gary firmly.

“I would have, but he said he was … well you know…”

“Gay?”

Mrs Peel nodded.

“What bad luck,” said Gary.

“He led me on to get more working hours out of me,” said Mrs Peel.

“So you must have felt humiliated and angry,” said Cleo.

“Angry enough to do away with him, Mrs Peel?” Gary asked.

Mrs Peel looked shocked.

“Oh no,” she said. “I wouldn’t do a thing like that.”

“If it wasn’t you, who was it?” Gary asked. “You must suspect someone.”

Mrs Peel did not answer.

***

“I think that’s enough for now, Mrs Peel,” said Cleo. “Think about what the Inspector asked you. You might remember something that would help us to find the person or persons who killed Mr Barclay.”

“He looked after those tanks himself,” said Mrs Peel. “He thought they were beautiful.”

“He could have got good money for the copper, Mrs Peel. Why didn’t he sell them?” said Gary.

“He wanted to turn this place back into a hotel,” said Mrs Peel.

“That’s interesting,” said Gary. “Did you want that, Mrs Peel?”

“What about all those pensioners? Where would they go?” said Mrs Peel.

“Nice of you to defend their rights, Mrs Peel,” said Gary.

“It won’t happen now, will it,” said Cleo.

“No,” said the housekeeper firmly, and Cleo wondered if that was the motive for killing Mr Barclay.

“We’ll leave you now, Mrs Peel,” said Gary.

“But we’ll be back when the autopsy is completed,” said Cleo. You’ll want to give Mr Barclay a good send-off and you can’t do that until the coroner decides.”

***

During the last few minutes they had moved to the entrance hall. Mrs Peel was told not to let anyone go into the cellar until the all clear was given. She should lock the door. They left the woman looking stiff and authoritative. She would not waste any time in taking over from Mr Barclay. Cleo and Gary assumed that she would now call the manager’s office her own. In fact, she had been at pains to give the impression that she was already in charge as long as Mr Barclay’s remains had been hidden.

Gary reflected that there was a lot of work to do. Mr Barclay’s relatives had to be found and informed and Mrs Peel’s past had to be scrutinized. Was it a good idea to let Vera sit in as a spy?

Footnote:

·         GRACIE FIELDS sang this song many years ago. She was a much loved Lancashire lass (1898-1979). I remember the song from my childhood. Popular culture has moved on a lot since then. You are now more likely to hear US twang than a down-to-earth English dialect ….. The lyrics are quite saucy, by the way!

Walter, Walter (lead me to the altar)

Walter and me, we've been courtin' for years But he's never asked me to wed
When Leap Year comes round I give three hearty cheers
Hip-hip-hooray, hip-hip-hooray, hip-hip-hooray As I do the askin' instead
I don't want to die an old maid So I sing him this serenade:
Walter-er, Walter, lead me to the altar, I'll make a better man of you
Walter, Walter, buy the bricks and mortar And we'll build a love nest for two
My bottom drawer's all packed and ready My bridal gown's as good as new
Walter, Walter, lead me to the altar And make all me nightmares come true
Walter, Walter, lead me to the altar I don't cost much to keep in food
Walter-er, Walter, mother says you oughta So take me while she's in the mood
You know I'm very fond of chickens We'll raise a lovely little brood
Walter, Walter, lead me to the altar And I'll show you where I'm tattooed
Walter, Walter, lead me to the altar Don't say I've met me Waterloo
Walter, Walter, tears are tasting salter And I've lost me handkerchief too
Don't muck the goods about no longer My old age pension's nearly due
Walter, Walter, lead me to the altar It's either the workhouse or you...
Oh dear, it is an all, it is an all; I'm gettin' older every day