Episode 10 - Start the weekend

Saturday, December 5

Cleo and Gary left the cottage together once Grit and Toni had appeared to take charge of the infants. The big girls were going to meet for a biscuit-making session at Cecilia William’s house down the road. Their school-friend’s mother was German and observed all the best German traditions all the year round, and that included making mountains of biscuits for Advent. A nice custom, Gary thought as he handed Charlie a twenty pound note to pay for some of the ingredients. After all, he would probably eat most of the biscuits. 

“That’s too much, Daddy,” Charlie had protested.

“Let’s bet that Mrs Williams won’t say that, Charlie,” said Cleo. “Just give it to her and say what it’s for and that you’ll need an extra tray for  Daddy’sHQ colleagues. I don’t think she’ll protest.”

“You heard, Sweetheart,” said Gary.

***

Gary was not looking forward to  anothermeeting with Miss Plimsoll, but it would be preferable to cream cakes with those three women from the OAP home. Cleo had taken the precaution of not having any breakfast and was looking forward to eating cake for cake with the cream-cake devourers who were now already waiting for her at Crumb’s bakery and drinking their first pot of tea since breakfast, which Cleo presently noticed had been written on her order slip. The women were nothing if not opportunistic, she thought, but that might be just the right way into what was going on at the home. There was no guarantee that Vera would find anything out and to be honest, Cleo was not sure that she wanted her to.

***

The Three Esses were glad to see Cleo, especially in view of the gratis feast awaiting them, as Cleo mused as she ordered the first plateful. The squabbling over who was to get which cake could be compared to the fracas at a kiddies’ birthday party, but eventually everyone was satisfied with her choice and Cleo took one of the leftovers. She had decided to come straight to the point. These women need not think she was there for the fun of it.

“Right, dear friends,” she started. “Which one of you drew the lot?”

“No one,” they replied synchronically and looked guilty, which was as Cleo had expected.

“If it helps you to tell the truth, you might like to know that the potency pills were probably not the cause of death.”

“Potency?” Sandy and Silvie gasped. Suzy smiled faintly.

“Hundreds of years ago witches, shamans, quacks and grandmothers dished them out to wives for dosing the husbands could not perform in bed,” said Cleo. “The practice still continues, though these days, men can take the potions without their bedfellows’ knowledge and have no need of any expert but the chemist who sells them. So it is not a question of guilt, is it?”

Cleo’s rhetorical question did not get a unanimous reception. Sandy was embarrassed; Silvie was shocked; Suzy was amused.

“I suppose you mean the afro-things,” said Silvie.

“Afro what?” asked Sandy.

“Aphrodisiacs,” said worldly Suzy. “Love potions.”

“Exactly,” said Cleo. “The problem is that love potions can contain poisonous substances or ingredients to which the recipient is allergic, and that can be deadly!”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” said Suzy. “Mine were chemical and the men thought they were on top form.”

“What men?”

“None around here,” said Suzy. “There is life outside Pensioner’s Paradise, you know.”

Cleo wondered how much of an attraction Suzy was to young men on the lookout for a rich, elderly widow.

“Not at our age, there isn’t,” said Sandy.

“It really depends on your looks, libido and liveliness,” said Suzy. The three Ells, in fact.”

“What’s all that about?” asked Sandy.

“Sex urges,” said Suzy, pulling no punches.

“Oh them,” said Sandy.

“So you gave pills to these two friends, did you Mrs Smith?” said Cleo. “Were they only to use them on Mr Formby, or did you have other prospective lovers in mind for them?”

The woman sat there tight-lipped. Even Suzy was not quite so enthusiastic now Cleo had drawn her to speak out. Sandy and Silvie were squirming under the weight of their guilty consciences. Suzy soon recovered her self-confidence, however,  pushed a cigarette into her jewelled holder and gripped it between her pearly-white dentures while she looked for her lighter.

“No smoking in here,” said Cleo.

“Oh,” said Suzy, putting the cigarette back into the packet, but holding on to the holder and posing elegantly.

As if to exonerate themselves, Sandy and Silvie reproached Suzy for getting them into the mess.

“What mess,” Cleo asked.

Cleo had not received a direct confession from the women, and that was what she had come for, after all.

“Pick-me-ups are a wonderful thing,” said Suzy.  “I can’t see the problem.”

“Can't you?” said Cleo. “The recipient should at least know he’s taking them for his own good – or are we talking about the victim of a plot to compromise him?”

“Compromise?” said Sandy.

“We wanted him to like us,” said Silvie as the implications of the ostensible love-potion dawned on her.

“I didn’t,” said Sandy in a cross voice. “He was a greasy old so-and-so and I think he was a thieving bastard as well.”

“Are you talking about Mr Formby?” Cleo asked.

“You were eager at the time,” snapped Suzy.

“What time? I wouldn’t let that Formby or his pal Battle get their hands on me, that’s for sure,” said Sandy.

“You didn’t give me that impression,” said Suzy. “The aphrodisiacs were wasted on you.”

***

Cleo mused that under normal circumstances, the women would not have socialized together. The cracks were getting wider by the second. Judging by her uncouthness, Sandy had seen much better days; Silvie was struggling to make the best of things; Suzy was flaunting what was left of her sex-appeal and incidentally manipulating the other two – just for fun, she would probably have said.

***

“And you two gave me the impression that you were ready to climb into bed with him if he invited you,” said Suzy, helping herself to another cream-cake.

“Did I know what those pills were for?” said Sandy. “I haven’t done that for donkey’s years.”

“Done what?” said Silvie.

“Enjoyed myself,” said Sandy.

“What else did you think the pills were for, Sandy?” said Suzy.

“Not that. I never would have dreamt …”

“Neither would I ….” agreed Silvie.

“And you should not be thinking such naughty thoughts at your age, Suzy,” said Sandy.

”I always had a way with men. There’s no reason why I should stop preferring them now,” said Suzy.

“Yes there is. Old age!” said Sandy.

“My feet are not afflicted and I still have nice legs,” said Suzy.

Sandy looked at her feet, which were pushed into flip-flops that she wore only if she ventured out of Pensioner’s Paradise. She had given up shoes long ago. High heels and hours on street corners had taken their toll. She had managed to stow away a pretty penny to pay for Pensioner’s Paradise, but her feet were made in hell.

“Look in a mirror, Suzy,” Sandy retorted. “Your face looks as it if is stuck together under all that makeup. It would take a trowel to scrape it off.”

“Stop bitching,” said Silvie. “You’re only jealous, Sandy. Makeup would improve your looks and Suzy very kindly showed me how to do it properly. You would look younger and feel younger if your face was prettied up a bit.”

“I would not want to have to scrape my face clean every night,” said Sandy.

“You mean like you did when you went out soliciting?” said Silvie. She had guessed what Sandy had done in her young years. No wonder the silly old woman didn’t fancy men.

“I think you should all be nice to one another since you are all in the same boat,” said Cleo. “I’ll sum up this meeting before I leave, shall I?”

“Be quick about it then, Miss Hartley,” said Sandy. “My feet are hurting.”

“And I’d like a smoke,” said Suzy.

“And I’d like us to be friends,” said Silvie timidly.

“OK. So I can safely assume that you all put some of that love potion into Mr Formby’s drink, can’t I? Each of you did not know that the others were doing it and two of you did not even know what it was for. I’ll need a statement from each of you.”

“You haven’t got a witness. We were making it up,” said Suzy. She was not only the leader of the trio; she was also the most astute.

“Don’t worry about that, Mrs Smith,” said Cleo. “I recorded our little chat.”

Cleo showed them the recorder that had been tucked into her blazer pocket.

“That’s not allowed,” said Suzy.

“Neither is the application of a drug on anyone without his or her knowledge,” said Cleo. “I don’t think you will be charged with murder, but what I have just mentioned is also against the law. Enjoy the rest of the cakes!”

With those words Cleo got up and went to the cash desk to pay the bill. Suzy marched ahead out of the bakery and lit up. Silvie dithered. She did not want to walk back to the home with Suzy, whom she thought was vulgar and now disliked intensely, or with Sandy, who understandably dragged her feet and leant heavily on the umbrella that served as a walking-stick. She needn’t have worried. Sandy remained seated. She would do justice to the rest of the second plate of cream cakes Cleo had ordered a while back. Cleo returned briefly to the table to assure the woman that she could have more cakes when they met again.

“Will we be arrested, Miss Hartley?” Sandy had wanted to know. “Me and the other two, I mean, because of those vitamin pills.”

“I can’t answer that, but probably not,” said Cleo, amused at Sandy’s euphemism, “You were led on by Mrs Smith, weren’t you? So if anyone is for the high jump, it’s her.”

“But no one can prove anything, Miss Hartley.”

“Don’t be so sure about that, but a confession would be better,” said Cleo. “Have you done anything else that is illegal?”

“Me? Not recently. Can I eat all these cakes?” said Sandy.

“I’ve paid for them. Enjoy them!” said Cleo, wondering if Sandy. was anxious about something else.

Outside the bakery she told Silvie that the business of her nephew getting her house fraudulently would be investigated. Silvie should supply her with more information about the guy.

“Do I have to?”

“Don’t you want your house back?”

“He’d kill me, Miss Hartley. He said he would if I complained.”

“Does he have a hold over you, Silvie?”

Silvie looked down at her high heels.

“Phone me later and tell me,” said Cleo.

“Yes, Miss,” said Silvie.

“I won’t tell the other Esses,” said Cleo.

***

The image of Sandy stuffing herself stayed with Cleo all the way home. Poor woman, she mused. Sandra Clark was discontented, and despised by the people with whom she was now spending her life, though it was probably a better life than the one she had been pursuing while she was still attractive enough. Cleo wondered if her former employer (to put it politely) had helped her get into Pensioner’s Paradise. Or did she have children who cared enough?  Cleo did not want her own mother to end up in that home, or in any other for that matter. On the other hand, Gloria would shake them all up and give her bespoke enemies as good as she got, which was something seemingly no one had dared to do in Suzy's case.

***

Nigel was sorting out the snail-mail when Gary arrived at HQ.

“Anything urgent?” he asked.

“Not in the post, but they’ve caught a guy called Crab trying to get money out of a machine with Agnes Plimsoll’s cash card,” Nigel reported. “Greg has the gen. Shall I tell him you’re here?”

“Good idea,” said Gary.

Greg came across the corridor and reported the details.

“Miss Plimsoll did not tell us about the cash card, Greg,” said Gary.

“But she told the bank and they presumably had their red flag out.”

“At least we now have something to go on in that bistro case apart from their ruined kitchen,” said Gary.

“Crab apparently tried three times to get cash before the card was retained and he actually went into the bank to ask for it back – he had forgotten his ID, he told them. But of course, the card had been deactivated, so there was no chance of him getting at money even if he’d known or guessed the ID.”

“This criminal seems to lack the necessary criminal energy.”

“The bank clerk apparently told Crab that if he could prove his first name was Agnes, he could have the (now defunct) card back and call in at his own branch to draw out money and order a new card. In the meantime the police had arrived on the scene. Crab was handcuffed and led away.”

“And where did all that happen?”

“At a Notting Hill Gate branch.”

“So he could be here today,” said Gary. “Miss Plimsoll should arrive any minute now. I wonder if she knows him.”

“They sent a mugshot. I’ve printed it,” said Nigel. “Brian Crab spent the night in a police cell while the colleagues decided what to do with him. They thought he would be more useful to us than to them so he’s somewhere between Notting Hill and here. He’s apparently quite a meek guy and did not put up any sort of fight.”

“Why are they sending him here, of all places?”

“I read the neme Agnes Plimsoll on the police search blog. The rest was easy. The Notting Hill guys are glad he had somewhere to go.”

“So we’ll hear a life of Brian quite soon. I hope it has some entertainment value,” said Gary.

“Don’t bank on it,” said Nigel.

***

A phone-call from reception notified them that Miss Plimsoll had arrived so Nigel went to fetch her.

To say that Miss Plimsoll was irate would be an understatement.

“You did not tell me that the card had been stolen, Miss Plimsoll. I assume that your nephew took it,” said Gary, hoping he could ordain the nature of the conversation. “It would have been in his wallet, so his comrade took it before running off.”

“I’m sure he did,” snapped Miss Plimsoll. “I should never have let him into the house. But he’s dead so he can’t have used it.”

“Exactly, Miss Plimsoll. We have only just found out that your cash card has been traced and that is a stroke of luck. The card, that was in the possession of the person we assume to have been driving your car when it crashed, had been deactivated as soon as you reported the loss, Miss Plimsoll. Your bank will replace it, of course. Mr Crab will be here any minute if you’d like to meet him,” said Gary, oozing politeness.

“Crab? Never heard of him.”

So she was either in denial or lying. She was not curious. Gary found that strange, but since the woman was an oddity it was probably not in her makeup to say thank you or even be a little gracious when she was being helped.

“Would you like some coffee?” Nigel asked.

“Am I going to be here that long?” spat Miss Plimsoll.

“Would you like to identify your relation while you are waiting?” Greg asked.

“I suppose I’ll have to,” said the woman. "His father disowned him years ago."

“What about this guy here?” said Nigel, showing Miss Plimsoll the photo of Brian Crab.

The woman shook her head.

“Is that Crab?” she asked.

“Yes. Have you seen him before?”

“No.”

***

Gary was thankful not to have to go down to the mortuary. While they were gone, Brian Crab arrived. He was escorted between patrol officers and clearly uncomfortable about the procedure.”

“I did not steal that card,” he volunteered.

“I didn’t say you had,” said Gary. “Sit down!”

Brian Crab did as he was told.

Gary turned to the officers, thanked them and told them they could go back to London. Gary signed their duty rota and they left. They would probably put the siren on and race back to base. They were young officers and would not otherwise be able to afford the Jaguar that was parked ostentatiously in front of the HQ entrance. Gary took time to look through the window at them speeding off.

***

“So, Mr Crab, where did you get the cash card?” Gary started, still facing the window.

Crab said nothing. Gary turned sharply.

"Am I right in thinking that you took it from a corpse?”

Crab looked startled.

 “Were you driving the little car that crashed on Thumpton Hill?”

In the moment’s silence before the reply Gary decided that Crab was considering admitting the incident.

“Yes. Perry was too drunk. I didn’t kill him. I told him to fasten his seat belt.”

“Why did you demolish that bistro kitchen?”

“Perry did that.”

“Do you want to tell me the whole story, or do I have to interrogate you till the cows come home?”

“I’ll talk,” said Crab.

***

Nigel returned from the mortuary. He had taken Miss Plimsoll to the canteen. The woman had put on a fair show of belligerence, but she was clearly not as indifferent to her nephew as she wanted them to think. She was as white as chalk and Nigel had thought she should sit down before she fell down. He had bought her a pot of tea and left her to the auspices of a canteen assistant..

“Take whatever it cost out of petty cash, Nigel.”

“I was going to. Like a coffee, Mr Crab?”

“Yes please,” said Crab.

Crab was clearly upset and possibly in shock. No point in bullying him, thought Gary as he gave Greg a warning sign that told him to hold back. Greg was more ebullient than the new, compassionate Gary who was sure that this guy would tell the whole story if given enough space.

“Sugar?” Nigel called from Gary’s cubby-hole room.

“Two please,” said Crab, pulling a wad of bank notes out of his pocket.

“It was in aid of this,” he said, putting the money on the table. “I was hired to make the kitchen unworkable by the former landlord of that bistro. He wanted the lease cancelled and thought that would be a good way to force the new incumbents to leave.”

“That ties in with what we thought,” said Gary. “But that landlord lives in Mallorca, doesn’t he?”

“I met him there at a pub. We got talking and he asked me if I would do the job. The thousand quid are the payment and I was to complete the job this year.”

“When was it all arranged?”

“Last month.”

“November isn’t the month to spend a vacation in Mallorca. What were you doing there?”

“Standing in for a barman at the pub I mentioned. I'd worked there a couple times as a student. Brit boozers like to talk shop in English. That’s where I met Josh.”

“Josh being the landlord of the bistro in Upper Grumpsfield, I take it.”

“Yes. I don’t know his surname.”

“Very trusting of him,” said Gary.

“I’d seen him at the pub before,” said Crab. “I came back on November 25^th and facebooked Perry Plimsoll. I’d been at college with him and I knew him well enough to know that he would jump at the chance to earn some extra cash. He was always skint.”

“Had you kept in touch with him?”

“No. But he was easy to trace and pleased with the job offer. He said he would turn up at an aunt’s house in Middlethumpton and pretend to be destitute. That way he could cadge a bed and borrow her car.”

“Which he did, of course,” said Gary.

“A few nights later we drove to the bistro, rang the doorbell, but no one reacted. Thumping loud music was shaking the air, but the pub was closed at one a.m. of course. We got in through a side window without anyone hearing us. Josh had told me that he had slept at the back and you could not hear what went on outside, especially with all that loud music going on.”

“Wasn’t that taking a risk, Mr Crab?” said Greg. “Breaking and entering is a crime.”

“We were in luck - partly.”

“What does that mean?”

“Perry stupidly emptied the wine and brandy bottles on the worktop. He was already a bit plastered when we set out and that finished him off. He lost control and started throwing things around. He's twice my size and I could not hold him back. I rescued some small appliances and put them in the car for safekeeping. Then he said he wanted the dishwasher. It was a table top model and Perry said they were fast and efficient – and cost a lot of money. I placated him by helping him to carry it out through the kitchen door. We loaded it into the boot.The car was a hatchback so that was easy, especially as Perry took the weight and I just held it steady. But there was nothing to tie it on with, so it just sat there. Perry was too drunk to drive so I did. The rest is history.”

“If we got the rest right, Mr Crab,” said Gary. ”Thumpton Hill has a steep gradient and has had black ice for a couple of weeks turning it into a skating rink. There’s a speed limit of 20 mph anyway because it’s dangerous all the year round. We think the dishwasher tumbled towards the front of the car by rolling 90 degrees forwards, bashed against the unsecured hatch or back of the rear seats causing you to brake. The car got out of control and swerved headlong into the only tree available. Mr Plimsoll was thrown out onto the road and suffered severe head-injuries. He must have died very soon after.”

"That's what I thought," said Crab.

“You were exceeding the speed-limit, weren’t you?” said Greg.

“Wouldn’t you with all that stuff in the car?” said Crab aggressively.

“I can’t believe that Mr Plimsoll did all that damage to the kitchen on his own, Mr Crab,” said Greg.

“I planned to do just enough damage to the kitchen to be able to tell Josh that I had done the job, but Perry had taken a crowbar out of the boot - for self-defence, he had said. He used that to bash everything in sight. He did the damage. I tried to stop him but he was in a murderous state and I was scared of him.”

“And now he’s dead so he can’t defend himself, can he?” said Greg.

“I am arresting you now for theft and wilful damage to the bistro kitchen, Mr Crab,” said Gary. “Your list of felonies will include careless driving, causing an accident by transporting an appliance without making sure that it was secured, and possibly the manslaughter of your friend Peregrine Plimsoll.”

Nigel, who had as usual been taking notes at his table in the corner of the room behind Crab, now came forward.

"But I didn't do the damage," protested Crab.

"But you hired someone to do it for you," said Greg.

"I did not tell him to do it. I had rose-cutters with me to cut through wire connections. That would have been enough."

***

“I’ll take him down, shall I?” Nigel offered.

“I’ll handcuff him first. You never know…” said Greg. “I’ll come with you.”

“I’ll go quietly. I’m sorry for all the trouble,” said Crab.

“So are we, Mr Crab,” said Gary. “If you had not taken on that illegal job you would not be in this mess. If you had thought twice about trying to pass off that cash card, we would never have found out who instigated the crime at the bistro, and Mr Plimsoll would still be alive.”

Mr Crab said nothing.

***

In the corridor on the way to the stairs, Crab and his escort met Miss Plimsoll on her way to Gary’s office. She was escorted by Mia Curlew, who had found the woman in the canteen, ascertained why she was at HQ and decided to take her to Gary to check the story.

“Was it you driving?” Miss Plimsoll shouted when she saw Crab and recognized him from the photo.

Crab nodded.

“Blast you! I need my car. You stole it.”

“Not him. Your nephew, Miss Plimsoll,” said Gary.

“Whatever. Keep that bastard relative out of it,” said Miss Plimsoll at hockey pitch volume.

Nigel and Greg exchanged glances. Nigel could not resist telling Miss Plimsoll not to speak ill of the dead.

“I’ll speak ill of whom I want,” she spat. “Your sort is in no position to criticize my sort.”

“My sort does not speak ill of the dead and respects other people’s views and inclinations, Miss Plimsoll,” retorted Nigel.

“Why, you little …”

"Don't tempt me..." said Nigel. "I've dealt with women like you before."

Miss Plimsoll scoffed.

“You heard, Miss Plimsoll,” said Greg. “Now behave yourself and shut up!”

And even Miss Plimsoll knew when to call it a day.