Episode 19 - Plans and Peel

Friday cont.

Gary had not handled his chat with Greg well at all. He could sense the old burnout problem coming over him again. He had seen Greg’s attitude to him change and wished he could put things right. He was also out of his depth for reasons he could not even explain to himself.

“So you had a dispute with Greg, did you?” said Cleo, the moment Gary crossed the cottage threshold.

“How do you know? You weren’t there.”

“Because the hunched up shoulders tell a tale, Gary.”

“He knocked Nigel. Maybe he isn’t mature enough for my job.”

“That’s ridiculous, and you know it.”

“I’m scared of the whole takeover.”

“Do you want to tell me what’s really biting you, or do you want time out for a visit to that burnout clinic?”

“Heavens no. Is it so noticeable?”

“It is to me, Sweetheart. Pull yourself together, Gary. We need you here and those cases are getting themselves solved somehow, aren’t they?”

“At this moment I have no idea,” said Gary louder than he meant to.

“They are, believe me,” Cleo shouted back

“I wish I had your optimism.”

“You have me and half a dozen kids who believe in you. Get a life, for heaven’s sake.”

“Sorry. Maybe a hug would help.”

Sometimes Cleo felt more like a mother than a wife.

“You beautiful kids are waiting for hugs,” said Cleo. “Forget yourself and dive in to the love only small children know how to give.”

Gary disappeared into the children’s play area that also served as a wintergarden. Soon giggles and shrieks could be heard. Cleo peeped in  at them. Gary was happy and relaxed and they were all having rough-and-tumble fun. Hang crime!

***

Having got his act more or less together, Gary came back into the living-room, apologized for being an arsehole (which was immediately contradicted by Vera and dorothhy) and roped in the two sisters for a visit to Bath next day. They were still sitting at the dining table astonished to be present at a spat they should not have witnessed, though their thoughts on that were quickly distracted by Gary’s obvious misery before Cleo sent him to get therapied by his kids.

He had to go back to HQ to interview Mrs Peel and Cleo had to go with him. Grit announced that she could cope with everything since Roger could help. Toni was not going out until later, so they would be back before then, wouldn’t they.? Cleo was not happy about making arrangements at such short notice, but there was no way she could miss the Peel questioning.

Cleo disapproved of the Bath outing, but said nothing. She regretted the tiff with Gary in front of Dorothy and Vera, but sometimes  shouting was the only way forward, she mused. That was all the more reason to support him now.

Dorothy and Vera were a little too overjoyed at having been roped in by Gary to conduct an almost impossible search, Cleo decided, but iIt would not be the first time that Dorothy had achieved the improbable and Gary was in determined to giv the mission a try. He was also pandering to Dorothy. She would notice that sooner or later and be offended. Vera would talk sense to her and tell her not to harp on retirement when it suited her.

The sisters finally left to get organized. They would take trains to Bath next day and report back on any findings. They might stay the night and even go to the Taproom for a drink of the famous water that gave the city its name. It was decanted in tiny glasses rather than bathtubs, which was fortunate as it tasted beastly.

Gary escorted the ladies home while Cleo got organized. Vera dawdled so that she could ask Cleo if the trip to Bath was occupational therapy. They were being kept busy, weren’t they? Cleo found it hard not to agree.

“Don’t worry about the spat,” said Vera. “I’ll sort Dorothy out.”

“That’s great, Vera. You’re a gem. Dorothy usually says that Robert was a better match I the long run.”

“Even now?”

“Yes Vera. She does not understand human relationships very well.”

“She never has. Dorothy loves love, but is not part of it, Cleo, and that has always bothered her.”

“But she loves the kids, Vera.”

“She loves you all, but she can’t show it.”

***

Gary might have given the impression of being enthusiastic, but in reality he was viewed taking over Roger’s job as a release from cases that depended on private sleuths and seemed only too often to be wild goose chases. He speculated that things  would not be moved along by Vera and Dorothy going on such an outing even if he had thought it up himself. His black mood  had returned by the time he came back from escorting the sisters.

Cleo noticed, of course. The drive to HQ was long enough to say something.

“If you are so despondent, why don’t you simply walk out on eveything,” Cleo suggested, not for the first time. “Let Greg do the work now and resign from the superintendent job before it’s too late.”

“Walking away would be even more cowardly, and we can’t afford me to be jobless, Cleo.”

“I’d rather be poor. We’d manage. That library job is vacant again.”

“What about the kids?”

“I was thinking of you doing the library job, but we could toss for it.”

“Sorry. I must be a nuisance with all my bellyaching,” said Gary.

“I’d rather have your gripes than tustles with the carcases Robert brought home from the abbatoir.”

“Don’t say he brought dead animals home.”

“Only the choice bits. All carnivores do that.”

“Not whole carcases, Cleo.”

“I only buy what you like to eat, Gary. The whole carcasses were small lambs not cows.”

“That’s terrible.”

“But we ate them and still do. It’s just that Robert gets them ready for the grill.”

“One day I’m going to turn vegetarian.”

“Pandas eat bamboo shoots all their lives and we eat meat. That’s the way of the world, Sweetheart.”

“Then it’s time we changed it.”

“So you won’t want your rump steak for supper, will you?”

“I’ll think about it.”

 “Did that Robert guy talk about his shop all the time?”

“On reflection, I think he did most of the time. Things never got beyond everyday topics. it’s OK if you like talking about making good profits on cuts of beef or the courage of those poor pigs, not to mention leading lambs to the slaughter. But Robert is congenitally boring.”

“And I’m not?” said Gary.

“No, but you can be a pain. I once told Robert that I was thinking of becoming a vegetarian.”

“How did he react to that?”

“He told me I would be a trator.”

***

Was Cleo imagining things, or was Gary’s spirit picking up at the thought of what a dolt Robert was?

***

“That’s how all butchers react, I suppose. Butchers don’t usually have vegetarian wives.”

“That attitude would be grounds for divorce then.”

“His or mine?” Cleo asked.

“Fortunately it did not come to that,” said Gary.

“No, Sweetheart. He shot himself in the foot by leaving me.”

Cleo noted that Gary was already forgetting about the HQ trials and tribulations and hoped he would not fall into a black depression at the sight of Mrs Peel.

***

“I told Greg we walked around in the nude,” he found himself saying. “You should have seen his face. He’s being enchanted by a girl named Josie who has a very expensive taste in underwear.”

“Awesome! You men don’t have too many topics to choose from, I guess.”

“What do you women talk about then? Cake recipes?”

“Men and their foibles.”

“I’m sorry I asked.”

***

When she was brought up from the cells on Friday morning, Agnes Barclay, née Peel, was not at all pleased to see Cleo.

“What the hell does she want here,” she scoffed in Cleo’s direction.

“I’ve come to have a little chat with you, Mrs Barclay.”

“Peel to you. I never use any other name.”

“A rose by any other name..,” said Cleo. “Shakespeare, Mrs Peel. It goes on “would smell as sweet”, but I smell a rat or two.”

“Is she allowed to be offensive, Cop?”

“Shakespeare is seldom offensive, Mrs Peel.”

Gary studiously kept his amusement over Cleo’s approach to himself. She had not told him how she was going to tackle the woman. Mrs Peel’s true character was being allowed free rein. She was vulgar and very suspicious of Cleo.

“Miss Hartley is employed to talk to prisoners and arrestees as a sociologist, Mrs Peel. She draws conclusions from the way her questions are answered, so I advise caution.”

“Stick it, cop!” said Peel. “You haven’t arrested me, so I think I’ll leave before this coloured woman gets up my nose any further.”

“You’re not going anywhere, Mrs Peel. You have been detained for a maximum of 42 days, before which time you will no doubt be in the dock,” said Gary. “But if it makes you feel better, I can charge you with drug-connected offences, Mrs …Barclay.”

“I told you, my name is Peel and I have nothing to do with drugs.”

“Then explain what your latees late husband was up to, Mrs Peel,” said Cleo. “Unfortunately we can’t ask him. Was another one of your previous husbands named Montague, by any chance?”

“Who’s that?”

“The rivals in Romeo and Juliette, Mrs Peel. You should read the play. Do you want me to get you a copy to read in your cell?”

”No.”

Gary could not help noticing that Cleo was at pains to make it clear who was in charge.

“We can’t get character recommendations from your previous husbands, can we?” said Cleo.

“Maybe they can speak from their graves if we poke around a bit,” said Gary. “Or would you like to tell us about them, Mrs ….Barclay.”

“Peel to you. Mr Montague died of ….”

“Poison, Mrs Peel?” Cleo threw in.

Peel looked startled. So did Gary. They had not yet received information about the previous spouses. Cleo was guessing.

“He took too many sleeping pills,” said Peel. “I told him not to. Not in his Whisky. He could put half a bottle away every night.”

“Really? Did you dissolve extra sleeping pills in his nightcap then?” said Gary.

“What a heaven-sent opportunity,” said Cleo.

Peel’s face clouded over and Cleo mused that surely questioning can’t be that simple. It would be easy to dissolve ten rather than two tablets. Peel almost suggested that the situation would have made it possible.

“Or was it the pillow over his face that did it, Mrs Peel?” Cleo said.

Peel was silent. Gary held his breath.

***

“ So let’s move on, shall we?” Cleo proposed in a light-hearted tone that totally belied the trap into which Peel was walking. “Your second husband – or have I let one out? - was a Mr Cornell, the owner of the Majestic Hotel in Upper Grumpsfield, wasn’t he?”

Mrs Peel nodded. She was not sure how much this olive-skinned woman knew, so she decided not to say anything more. She was in the clear with regard to her previous husbands. She had nothing to fear. The courts had had no evidence of wrongdoing and closed the cases.

“His life insurance was a good start to your life after, wasn’t it?” said Cleo. “Poor Mr Cornell had been a disappointment financially. Poor cash flow. And he had spent a fortune on you to get you to marry him. Am I right?”

Gary watched Peel’s reactions in a mirror strategically placed so that he could view suspects from his desk. He had no idea how he could support Cleo, so she was best left to her own devices, he mused. He could see that Peel was nervous. Her eyes were darting about and her fists were clenched, sure signs that something was making her panic. But what? Peel had been cleared in previous cases, hadn’t she? But after all, the nature of Barclay’s death was still in question.

“You inherited Mr Cornell’s shares in the hotel, didn’t you?” Cleo continued.

“What if I did?” said Peel.

“Who else inherited shares, Mrs Peel? Who else is part owner of Pensioner’s Paradise?”

Gary came nearer. Cleo had thought of something he had not thought of. It was possible that Peel herself had enemies – people who wanted her dead. Was that the reason she was so nervous?

“You see, Mrs Barclay,” said Gary. “We have ways of finding out.”

“Blast you. Then find out,” Peel cussed.

“We will, Mrs Barclay, and until we have clear picture of what has been going on in your life, you will be a guest of Her Majesty.”

Peel shrugged her shoulders-

“Before you go back to your cell, tell us how you knew about the heroin?” Gary asked.

“I didn’t know,” said Peel. “I took a phone-call and a strange voice told me stuff was on the way.”

“A likely story,” said Gary. “We’ll check it.”

Cleo believed Peel. She gave Gary a disapproving look and he moved back to his desk chastened.

“Does the name Peregrine Plimsoll mean anything to you, Mrs Peel?” said Cleo, and Gary wondered how she had come to think of him. “He’s dead, too.”

“The guy round that old oaktree? I expect he had it coming to him,” said Peel.

“How come?” said Cleo.

“He was a thug, wasn’t he?” said Peel.

“What makes you think that?”

“He demolished the bistro kitchen. That’s what thugs do.”

“Can you hire them to kill, Mrs Peel,” Cleo asked.

It dawned on Gary that Cleo might have put two and two together more efficiently than he had. In fact, that notion had just occurred to Cleo, and she put it to the test without delay.

“Do you think he killed my husband?” Peel asked. Gary realized that she was now in the throes of finding a killer for Barclay.

“Plimsoll wasn’t just a thug, was he, Mrs Peel? He was a professional assassin.”

“I wouldn’t know,” stuttered Peel.

“You lived in Bath with your first husband, Mrs Peel, and Plimsoll lived in Bath with his father. Isn’t that a coincidence?” said Cleo. “Was Plimsoll the result of your affair with his father?

“I don’t remember.”

“You deserted them for a better quarry, I suppose,” said Cleo. “A quick search through your bank accounts would confirm that you paid Plimsoll senior to kill your first husband and then left him and your child in favour of Montague. Is that so?”

“I don’t remember.”

. Montague was no problem. You didn’t need an assassin for him, did you? But Plimsoll might have been hired to kill Mr Cornell, and he might haver killed Mr Barclay.”

“Poison is not the work of a professional assassin,” said Mrs Peel, who was clearly horrified by what Cleo was saying.

Gary wondered how much of what he had just heard was fact. Cleo was certainly in her element.

“Did you pay cash, Mrs Barclay?” said Gary. “Or did your son do you a couple of favours even though you had deserted him when he was just a little boy?”

Peel puckered her lips  said no more. Gary did not know how much of what Cleo had said was viable. Fabrication was one way of getting witnesses to talk, but basing a whole questioning and at least three murders on whopping lies was not helpful since they had little information to support it, he mused.

“I’ve asked enough questions,” said Cleo.

“Too many,” said Peel.

“Take her to her cell!” Gary instructed the security guard and Peel was led away, handcuffs clipped on for safety’s sake.

“Let’s go home, Cleo,” said Gary. “That was enough drama for one day.”