Episode 21 - Puzzles and skeletons

Saturday afternoon

Gary got to HQ before Nigel had braced himself to talk to Crab. He was playing host to Agnes Plimsoll and not liking it.

Agnes Plimsoll was sitting at the table at the back of Gary’s office, where Nigel liked to sit and take notes during interviews,. She was tapping her fingers and scowling. Nigel had provided her with a copy of The Times and she was scribbling in the answers to the cryptic clues one after another as the solutions dawned on her. Nigel was impressed. He did not think around enough corners to do difficult cryptics and Gary said he never attempted them, arguing that if he had time on his hands something had gone wrong with his planning.

“Chris is looking at the car now,” said Nigel after a short phone-call. He was hoping Miss Plimsoll cound retrieve her car and go home.

“Who’s Chris?”

“Our forensic scientist, Miss Plimsoll.”

“What about the gun?”

“Apparently no registration and curiously, no ammunition,” said Nigel.

“What did you do with the bullets, Miss Plimsoll?” Gary asked.

Agnes Plimsoll looked up from her puzzle and said “Monster scatters gore”.

“Ogre,” snapped Gary.

“Pardon?” said Miss Plimsoll.

“O G R E”  Gary spelt out. “Anagram of gore.”

“So it is,” sniffed Agnes Plimsoll. “So you do cryptic puzzles too, do you?”

“All the time,” said Gary. “Solving cryptic puzzles is part of my job.”

“I can’t tell you anything about my nephew that you do not already know. And I do not have bullets for a gun I don’t own.”

“Do you otherwise own a gun, Miss Plimsoll?” said Nigel.

“A water pistol. That is weapon enough for me.”

“That really is cryptic, don’t you think, Miss Plimsoll?” said Gary. “You say you own a water pistol but a regular weapon is found in your car.”

“I’m not fibbing, Inspector. Perry phoned me and asked to visit. When he got to my house he said he was broke. He seemed very upset and I felt sorry for him although he was the bastard son of my bastard brother.”

With those words Miss Plimsoll returned to her puzzling.

“Do you know who his mother is?” Gary asked.

“No and I don’t want to.”

“I’ll tell you anyway. It’s Agnes Peel, wife of the murdered manager at the OAP home.”

“Did Perry kill him?”

“Possibly. Do you want to hear what he was really up to, Miss Plimsoll?” Gary asked, no longer surprised at the venon in Miss Plimsoll’s voice after he had heard her shout at the hockey team. .

“What about the climbing-plant found in various climates, Mr Detective?”

“Clematis,” said Nigel, much to everyone’s surprise.

“Anxiety for the firm?” asked Miss Plimsoll.

“Concern,” said Gary. “And I’m concerned, Miss Plimsoll. This is not a game.”

“No. It’s a puzzle,” said Agnes Plimsoll quite humourful compared with the vitriol she spat when she talked about her nephew..

Gary reflected that Cleo would have been laughing heartily by now. He and Nigel were not getting onto well with the sports teacher.

“The puzzle for me is where did the gun come from, Miss Plimsoll.”

“I was not the last to drive my car before it was used as a getaway vehicle,” said Miss Plimsoll. “You’d better ask the person who survived.”

“I will, Miss Plimsoll,” said Gary.

“You did not seriously think I would own a gun, did you?”

“You would not be first lady round here to sport a weapon,” said Gary, thinking of Dorothy and the ladies’ pistol she carried round with her in her handbag. Nigel was thinking of his nasty confrontation with Mrs Peel’s gun.

“Annie Oakley did.”

“This is not the Wild West, Miss Plimsoll.”

***

The phone rang. Chris had finished looking at the car, but would hang on to the gun and the jack in its case for further tests. Gary told him that Miss Plimsoll had used the jack to change a wheel that day. Chris’s reply was a hoot of laughter. In his mind, Miss Plimsoll was the cartoon figure Gary had described as being heavy-handed and grotesque during hockey supervision.

“I’m confiscating your jack-in-a-box, Miss Plimsoll,” Gary announced, “but you can have your car back.”

“What about compensation for the damage done to it?”

“You’ll have to find out if your deceased nephew was insured, won’t you?” said Gary. “Escort Miss Plimsoll to her car please, Nigel.”

It amused Gary to hear that Agnes Plimsoll was testing Nigel’s cryptic ability in a very loud voice on their way to the HQ back exit, where her car was parked.

“Burglar wrecked havoc with clarinets,” she shouted. “9 letters. Any idea?”

“it’s an anagram, Miss Plimsoll.”

“That’s a good start, my boy.”

“Not thief or pilferer.”

“Of course not.”

“How about larcenist?” said Nigel.

“Was that a guess?”

“Anagram of clarinets,” he explained.

“You have talent, young man.”

Their voices faded. One parting clue was heard faintly.

“Lawrence held tiny warbler, Mr Nigel. Phone me when you have the answer.”

***

Nigel was thankful to return to what he referred to as a haven of sanity.

“That woman had me guessing clues all the way to the exit, and she’s left me with one,” said Nigel.

“I heard you shouting. Write it down. That usually helps.”

“So you actually do cryptics, do you?”

“Not unless I have to.”

“Lawrence held tiny warbler,” Nigel wrote down.

“Who the hell is Lawrence?”

“Better ask Agnes.”

“Better not.”

“I’m to phone her when I have the answer.”

“She seems to have taken a liking to you.”

“That’s all I need,” moaned Nigel.” What with her and Grizzly Gisela, I’ll have my work cut out upstairs.”

“”You’ll cope, Nigel.”

“I don’t really want to.”

“So what’t the answer?”

“Keep guessing. I’ve spotted it.”

***

Brian Crab was next on the list. Accordlingly he was fetched by Nigel. At least he did not offer cryptic clues.

“Good afternoon, Mr Crab. If you are straight with me you can go home,” said Gary.

Nigel looked surprised.

“Do you know anything about Peregrine Plimsoll that you haven’t told us, Mr Crab?” Gary started.

“He said he wanted to visit his aunt soon because he had something he wanted to tell her. So he was very pleased to hear from me as it gave him an excuse to go there, though why he needed one is a mystery.”

“Some estranged families stay estranged because no one can admit they made a mistake,” suggested Nigel. “A skeleton in the cupboard, for instance. Everyone has at least one.”

“Speak for yourself, Nigel”, said Gary.

“I am doing.”

“You went to school with him, didn’t you?” Gary said, ignoring Nigel’s quasi confession.. “But you did not have much contact until that phone-call, I understand.”

“We both got apprenticeships, but he broke his off and sponged on his parents. He told me he had played poker professionally, but he did not win very often. I did an apprenticeship as a technical drawer and got a job with a firm of architects.”

“But you are a student, aren’t you?” said Gary.

“Later I realized that I could not get far by doing technical drawings for other people. Some of those architects were hopeless. The longer I worked for them, the more did I realize that my only way upwards was to study architecture.And that’s what I’m doing now.”

“So you are a mature student. Where?”

“In Bristol, and I live in one of the student halls, so my address is genuine, Mr Hurley.”

“And your trips to Mallorca were vacations, I take it,” said Gary.

“Earning the price of my digs and enjoying the sunshine at the same time was convenient. Jack offered me one at the pub I went to after the beach so I could have the beach during the day and earn money at the pub in the evenings. Ideal.”

“I’m sure it was. With a bit of smuggling thrown in for good measure, I presume.”

“I was only a decoy, Mr Hurley.”

“For whom?”

Someone I don’t know.”

“Name?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

“How did it work?”

“I made a fuss at customs and she crept out with the stuff like the grey mouse she was.”

“Who was she?”

“I told you. I never found out her name.”

“How did the stuff get to the OAP home?”

“I met the girl in a busy place we had arranged before the flight, such as a sports stadium, and she handed the stuff over. I then waited for a phone call.”

“A perfect plan.”

“It only happened three tims. I never understood why smuggling such a small amount could be worth the risk.”

“I don’t understand that either, so there may have been something else tied in with it. We’ll probably never know what.”

“You could ask Jack. He set it up.”

“I will. I wonder what those local cops had to do with it all. They must have known.”

“I didn’t see any cops.”

“You wouldn’t have wanted to, would you?”

Crab shook his head.

“Do you know about the gun found in Miss Plimsoll’s car, Mr Crab?”

“Perry never mentioned a gun to me. He was a fisticuffs guy, not a shooter-outer.”

“So you didn’t see him hide a gun in the boot.”

“No.”

“Did you hide that gun?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Just a question I had to ask for the record, Mr Crab. I don’t think you are cut out for crime, let alone shoot-outs.”

“Thanks for that, but there is something bothering me a lot, Mr Hurley. Perry was in a strangely sober frame of mind before he binged at the bistro. Quite unlike his normal blustering self. I asked him why and he said his father had died, so he would have had to visit the aunt anyway. The brother and sister had been estranged for some years. But Perry thought she should know.

“I agree. She hasn’t mentioned her brother except as a crook she hates, so she won’t know that he’s dead, but she thought Perry was hiding something. Do you want to tell her?” said Gary.

“No, not so soon after being involved in that incident with her car. I’m not directly responsible for Perry’s death and I shouldn’t think she’s very sorry, though that’s only guess work, but I can’t face her. Sorry.”

“You guesswork hits the spot, however.”

“Can you let me go back to Bristol? I’m missing lectures and my finals are coming up soon.”

“Yes, Mr Crab. You can go. I had your address checked so I know where to find you. You will be charged with careless driving and theft of articles on a corpse, but not with murder. There’s also the small matter of willful damage to that bistro kitchen, but for that we really need to consult the injured party. You may get away with it.”

“I didn’t do that damage, but I could not stop Perry. I was scared he would knock me out, Mr Hurley. I tried to rescue the equipment and that made him think I was only doing the job he hired me for. Humouring him by helping to carry that dishwasher to the car probably saved my hide.”

“I hope you are not making it all up, Mr Crab,” said Nigel, who felt he ought to say something.

“The crash happened just as I said. If Perry had been strapped in and conscious of the danger he would not have been thrown out of the car. Maybe the door lock was faulty. He was leaning on the door so the catch may not have held his weight when we hit that kerb.”

“I’ve been thinking along those lines, too, Mr Crab,” said Gary. “It’s also possible that the car door was not closed properly. That old car would not have a warning light about that. You will get the benefit of the doubt in that matter.”

“That is a load off my mind, Mr Hurley. I have a clean slate and I wish I had never got myself into such a mess. When can I leave?”

“Go down with Nigel and collect your belongings. I’m going to confiscate £500 of that spurious fee from the landlord. It would belong to Mr Plimsoll had he lived to enjoy it, but the £500 you are left with  can go towards the repairs on the car. I’m sure you agree. ”

“Yes. What about the bankcard?”

“Useless, Mr Crab. We’ll keep it for sentimental reasons and we’ll tell Miss Plimsoll about her brother’s death if you’d prefer it that way.”

“Thanks.”

***

Gary was pleased with the way things had gone. Nigel would take care of final formalities and he would also drive to Agnes Plimsoll’s address, hand over the money and tell her tha bad news about the brother she had not seen for many years.

Gary wanted to call in at the villa to see how things were going and arrange with Pavel to move Cleo’s possessions out of her office next day. Only the Peel case was left to be solved.

***

Although Gary was quite satisfied with Saturday afternoon, he was glad to be home, where all his children were now gathered, even Charlie and cousin Lottie, though they had an ulterior motive in connection with some very puzzling geometry homework.

The phone rang with such urgency that Gary announced immediately that it must be the Ladies in Bath.

“You’re guessing, Daddy,” said Charlie.

“I can tell by the ring,” he said.

Sure enough, it was a phone-call from two rather excited sleuths. Cleo switched the phone onto room acoustics and they all listened in to the chitchat preamble before Dorothy got to the point.

“So what do you want to tell us, Ladies?” he said

“Mrs Peel’s family is quite upset that she is suspected of murder again,” said Dorothy.

“Again? Does that mean you told them about the current investigation?

“Not in so many words, but it all seemed familiar to them.”

“Does that mean that there were doubts about dead husbands before this one, Dorothy?” said Gary, Brief doubts about the natural causes of death had at the time been scotched by the evidence that was available, according to the reports.

“They were especially sceptical about Mr Montague because that was in all the local papers doing deals of one sort or another and an embarrassment to people who care a lot for keeping up appearances.”

“I would have thought they had got overit by then. Agnes Peel did not have an unblemished youth,” said Gary, “even without dabbling in homicide.”

“They told us that she had been a bit of a playgirl,” said Vera, “but a respectable one.”

“That’s what she told them. I think prostitution was probably nearer the mark,” said Gary. “And they must have suspected it, otherwise their feeling of respectability would be intact.”

“A journalist named Arthur something featured a lot in their moans and groans. He published anything he could get away with,” said Vera.

“It may surprise you that an Arthur Mills is now residing at Pensioner’s Paradise as an honoured guest of Mrs Barclay alias Agnes Peel,” said Gary.

“So he caught up with her, did he?” said Vera. “The Peels don’t want anyone to draw attention to them again, and if he’s a resident at the OAP place that rather confirms that he has retired, doesn’t it?”

“Always assuming he doesn’t offer a scandal-filled article to his former employers,” said Cleo. “They would snap it up.”

“I suppose so,” said Dorothy.

“What kind of reputation did the Peels clan have, not least thanks to that journalist?” Cleo asked.

“Apparently completely respectable until Agnes Peel went off to London. Her exploits with various politicians and celebrities were in the local press and of course received with mixed blessings by the family clan. Then they realized that the future would be rosier for them all if Agnes angled someone rich or famous.”

“So marriage would make the Peels respectable again, I assume,” said Gary.

“And it did. Montague was Peel’s first husband and very rich. He died in his sleep, they told us. Asphyxiation through someone smothering him was suspected but not proved. He left his fortune to a dog’s home, so Agnes and the Peel clan did not enjoy the fruits of that marriage.”

“Ironic,” said Gary. “There’s something like that in the police report. It also explains why she wasted no time in finding another rich man to marry.”

“The Peel family wants nothing to do with her, Gary, now she has so much scandal attached to her name,” said Dorothy.

“That doesn’t surprise me,” said Gary.

“When I told them how Mr Barclay had died, they were sure Peel must have had a hand in that, too.”

“Did they say anything else about her as a person?” Cleo wanted to know.

“Only vehemently claiming that she worked as a secretary in London before she hit on the celebrity circuit. What made them almost respectable again, at least some of the time, was Agnes’s hobnobbing with celebrities, which seems to be on a par with social acceptance in their circle. They thought she would bring a good catch home, but said that true love won the day with Agnes when she met Montague in Bath while on a poker circuit with some politician or other. Hard to believe, don’t you think?”

“Each time the marriage ended with a premature death. It’s all rather murky, isn’t it?” said Cleo, “but it fits in with the woman’s mindset as far as I can judge.”

“It could have been digitalis, couldn’it ?” said Dorothy. “There are several ways of faking a heart attack.”

“We’ll find out, Ladies,” said Gary. “I’ve already applied for exhumation orders.”

“The family won’t like that,” said Dorothy.

“Then they’ll have to lump it.”

“There’s nothing more we can do here. Do you want us to come home, Gary?”

“I think that would be a good idea, Ladies. I’ve got another job for you.”

Cleo raised an eyebrow.

Dorothy rang off after Gary would not say what the job was.

Cleo could not resist asking what he was planning.

“I’ll send them to Miss Plimsoll’s to tell the woman about her brother’s death,” Gary declared.

“You can’t do that.”

“Yes, I can. She’s obnoxious and I don’t want to go anywhere near her. And neither does Nigel. He’ll be glad not to have to go there.”

“I suppose you think your favourite private sleuths can cope with her better than he could.”

“The other alternative is…”

“Don’t look at me like that. I really don’t want to go there.”

“That’s what I thought. By the way, I’ve released Brian Crab.”

“You have?”

“He’s gone back to his studies in Bristol. I can’t keep him locked up on a careless driving accusation and we need more evidence for anything else.”

“IsN’t that stolen credit card enough?”

“Miss Plimsoll hasn’t pressed charges yet.”Have you asked her to?”

“No. She’s an obnoxious person.”

“But the law is on her side, Gary.”

“Then she van get lawyer to deal with it.”

“I suppose it does clear the air at your HQ,” said Cleo sardonically. “Wrapping a dead friend round a convenient tree does not constitute much of a crime, either. And neither does the hit-a-tree and run for it.”

“Any doctor would sanction shock, Cleo. He was scared out of his wits.”

“It’s trivial compared with the Peel case.”

And the air will be even cleaner when Peel has been dealt with once and for all, and that has to be on Monday.”

“So you  know exactly how Barclay died.”

“You were right again, my love. Cyanide, according to Chris. A dose of digitalis helped it along. Of course, falling into the wine tank did not help matters.”

“No smoothie needed to test the woman then.”

“We might want to use that ruse anyway.”

“And the exhumations can go ahead, can they”

“If we need them,” said Gary. “Maybe we can get Peel to confess.”

“We?”

“Your cyanide shake might yet do the trick` if we get stuck. I’d just like to know where you get the poppy seeds.”

“A harmless baking ingredient. You can sprinkle them on bread rolls. Coffee, Sweetheart?”

“You could lace it with rum.”

“I was planning to. Irish coffee is definitely preferable to cyanide smoothies,” said Cleo. “And don’t worry your head about the poppy seeds, Gary. By the time they are ground and boiled, the morphine content is negligible.”