A Village Deception (Turnham Malpas 15) (24 page)

‘Get the number!’

Fran interrupted. ‘What is the matter with you two? Is it someone you know?’

Harriet frantically searched for paper and pen, Jimbo leaped about the room as though he was walking on hot coals, and Fran adopted the pose of a scathing teenager bored with her middle-aged parents apparently taking leave of their senses yet again.

‘Who is it? I demand an answer!’

‘Harry Dickinson! It must have been when he went to that funeral. But he didn’t go to one, he was doing a robbery. A
bank
robbery. Oh my God!’ Fran feigned a faint on the carpet.

Rather dramatically, Jimbo shouted, ‘We’ve been harbouring a viper in our midst! To think that I gave him a job, and asked Mother to rent him her cottage.’

‘Dad! What now?’

Both Jimbo and Harriet were lost for words. What did you do when you recognised someone on
Crimewatch?

‘Ring the number!’ shouted Fran, thrilled by the position they found themselves in. Fame at last. This would put Turnham Malpas on the map and not half! ‘Go on, ring the number!’

‘Harriet!’ Jimbo pointed dramatically in the direction of the front door. ‘Pop into the Royal Oak for a word with Georgie or something and see if Harry’s in there. Then come back and tell me and I’ll ring Sergeant MacArthur.’

‘What shall I say?’

‘Anything you bloody well like, but
do
it.’

‘I’ll go as well!’

‘No you won’t, Fran. You never go in there so it would alert him that something is up.’

‘Please!’

Jimbo shook his head.

‘I’m going and you can’t stop me.’

‘You’re not going if I have to tie you to a chair. You are
not
going, do you hear? Harriet! What’s the delay?’

‘I’m thinking.’

‘There’s no time for thinking, get gone woman!’

So she did.

The bar at the Royal Oak was busy, with scarcely a chair, nor a stool, to spare. Harriet walked as steadily as she could to the counter and fixed her eyes on Georgie. She still hadn’t come up with a reason for being there.

‘I just wondered …’

‘Yes?’

‘I just wondered whether Craddock Fitch was in tonight?’

A rather surprised Georgie answered, ‘Well, no. He hardly ever is.’

‘Oh! Right. Orange juice please.’ Then it hit her straight between the eyes that she’d no money on her. ‘Cancel that. Sorry.’ She ran her fingers through her hair, then casually turned to check the bar. There was Harry, sitting comfortably for all the world to see, innocently enjoying a pint of home-brew and talking to Zack, Vince, Sylvia, Maggie and Dottie. She twinkled her fingers at them as they waved to her, then said to Georgie, ‘Sorry, got to go’ and left, walking as slowly as her racing heart would allow.

Once outside she dashed for home. The door was ajar and waiting behind it were Fran and Jimbo.

‘He’s safely ensconced with a pint, only a quarter drunk.’

‘Right. Sergeant MacArthur it is.’

They were still all sitting in the Royal Oak enjoying their drinks and having a good laugh about anything and everything at ten o’clock. They’d thoroughly discussed the outcome of the cricket match on Saturday, gone over yet again Peter’s idea about selling the silver and all but one had agreed he shouldn’t, Harry having said he’d no preference seeing as he hadn’t lived in the village long enough to have an opinion. The imminent annual village show had been discussed and more than one had said it wasn’t like it used to be, it had gone all modern and didn’t feel the same, not like it did when they were young and …

At that very moment, three men walked in, followed by Sergeant MacArthur.

You could have cut the atmosphere with a knife because, in an instant, panic was written on every face. Mac coming in? He never did that unless there was trouble, and those three men with him looked suspiciously like plain-clothes detectives. The strangers’ eyes were searching every single face in the bar.

Dicky bravely stepped forward. ‘Good evening, gentlemen, how may I help?’

But Sergeant Mac walked straight across to Harry and asked him to accompany him to the police station in Culworth to help with police enquiries. Everyone in the bar heard what he said. Every single one of them. There was still a mouthful of home-brew left in his glass, and Harry calmly finished it, winked at Dottie, got up and went out, hemmed in by the three detectives. Sergeant Mac left last and, just before he closed the door behind him, he gave a triumphant thumbs up to Dicky.

There had been many exciting events in the Royal Oak bar over the years, but this one, well, it took some beating.

‘He winked at me!’ said Dottie. ‘It can’t be very serious if he winked at me?’

‘It took four of ’em to arrest him though.’

‘He wasn’t arrested, they said helping them with their enquiries.’

‘Same thing, different words.’

‘But Harry won’t have done anything serious, now will he? He’s such a nice man.’

Through the door burst Zack and Marie, obviously very upset.

Marie was breathless and trembling from head to foot and Zack helped her to the chair Harry had just vacated. Zack was too worked up to care that he’d sat down in Jimmy’s chair. When he’d caught his breath he said, ‘We’re looking for Harry, he’s not at home. Has he been in here tonight?’

They all solemnly nodded.

‘Where is he then?’

They all knew how attached to Harry Zack and Marie were, and so people hardly dared to tell them what had happened. But someone earwigging from another table, it would have to be that vulgar man from Penny Fawcett that no one liked, said, ‘You’ve just missed him. He’s been taken to the police station.
He’s helping them with their enquiries, that’s what they said.’

Marie broke down in tears and Sylvia passed her a tissue and asked Zack what he knew about it. Zack cleared his throat and attempted to tell them about
Crimewatch
and seeing Harry in a hoody raiding a bank.

Willie protested. ‘Raiding a bank? Never. You must have got the wrong m—’

‘But he didn’t, did he, Willie? Get the wrong man. They’ve just been for ’im.’ This came from Dottie who was still puzzling about the wink Harry gave her.

‘So who rang the police, then?’ asked Zack in an accusatory tone.

‘You’re not going to say they shouldn’t have, when they’d recognised him? Just like you did?’ asked Sylvia. ‘He must have done it when he went to that funeral.’

Dottie backed her up. ‘Some funeral. I remember reading about that bank raid in the paper. In Essex it was. If it’s the same one, one of the bank staff got shot. I hope it wasn’t Harry who fired the gun, else he’ll be in for it.’

Marie suddenly came to life. ‘Are you suggesting that Harry had a gun? I hope not. I’m certain they’ve got the wrong man.’

‘But, Marie, you watched
Crimewatch,
and the way you’re crying, you do believe it was him don’t you?’ Sylvia said this in such a kindly manner that Marie burst into tears all over again, whispering between sobs, ‘I won’t believe it. I won’t.’ Zack put an arm round her shoulders and squeezed her, while privately wondering how they could have been so taken in by Harry. But they weren’t the only ones; everyone who met him liked him. Every single one. They’d all been taken in by him, even Jimbo had trusted him. It was no good denying it, the despair he felt inside himself told him it was true; Harry had been involved.

Dottie argued, ‘When you think about it, he never did tell you anything about himself, did he? He could talk about anything, but never about his family or what he’d done in his lifetime
like we do. You know, funny incidents about when we were young, school and friends and that. Did he have any family? Did he have a past?’ Dottie looked at them each in turn and none of them denied what she said. ‘He must have been a con man and none of us realised it. Not even Jimbo, and he’s very astute.’

Maggie, getting into the spirit of the thing, said grimly, ‘I wonder if he’d just got out of prison, what with him never talking about his past. He was very pale at first.’

Marie gasped in horror.

Sylvia said, ‘Maybe he’s really an undercover policeman and the detectives came to rescue him, to whisk him away to safety. Arresting him was all a sham. That’s why he hadn’t a past, he was undercover.’

Marie responded to Dottie’s remark by looking more cheerful. ‘Oh, yes! Of course, that’ll be it.’

Vince dismissed this idea abruptly. ‘Now we are getting daft. Why should he be undercover in Turnham Malpas? There’re no robbers here.’

Eyebrows were raised by the ones who had dismissed the undercover idea right from the start.

They were still at it at closing time. Dicky had kept very quiet while all this was going on and, in fact, at one point had put a finger to his lips to warn Georgie to keep silent.

After everyone had left to spread the news of yet another dramatic night in the Royal Oak, Dicky and Georgie sat upstairs in their sitting room to question whether they should tell what they knew about Harry. They still hadn’t resolved the question when they went to bed at one o’clock in the morning.

Before he’d stocked up ready for opening at eleven o’clock Dicky had been round to the little police station attached to the police house where Sergeant Mac and Mrs Mac lived. He dinged the bell on the counter and out from the house part of the police station came Mac, dressed in mufti.

‘Morning, Dicky. What can I do for you?’

‘The arrest you made last night—’

‘It wasn’t an arrest, he’s helping the police with their enquiries.’ Mac rested his forearms on the counter to lower himself to Dicky’s short stature.

‘Well …’

‘Yes?’

‘I feel uncomfortable coming here because this is only a suspicion but, in the circumstances, Georgie and me, well, we think we need to tell you something.’

‘Yes, what’s it about?’

‘Harry Dickinson. On two separate occasions we were convinced that it was Harry who paid us with counterfeit twenty-pound notes. We didn’t mention it to him because we weren’t one hundred per cent certain it was him who gave them to us, only pretty sure it was.’

‘Right. Still got ’em?’

Dicky dug in his back pocket and brought them out. ‘Here we are.’

‘I shall take these to Culworth this morning. They have him there. Anything else of value you would care to impart?’

‘Well, again, this is only a suspicion, but we did notice that while Jimbo was away and Harry was in charge of going to the bank with the takings like we do, he seemed to be very flush with money. Right from when he first came, he always appeared very eager to pay his round but in fact when he opened his wallet, there was very little in it. Enough, but not more than enough. But then Georgie spotted a real load of notes in his wallet on two occasions while Jimbo was away, and Harry tried to get his money out while he shielded his wallet from view. Now, it may have been coincidence, but on the other hand it did seem odd. Georgie’s sharp. Having been in the trade for years, she knows what she’s talking about when it comes to money, believe me. Maybe we’re being too over … whatever … But there you are.’

‘Has Jimbo said anything about any theft to you, as one businessman to another?’

‘No.’

Mac found a brand new plastic bag and placed the two twenty-pound notes in it. ‘Thank you for this information, it’ll all add to the case.’

‘He’s guilty then? It was him on
Crimewatch?’

Mac tapped the side of his nose, ‘Police business, can’t talk about it,’ but he gave Dicky a wink and a thumbs up.

‘OK.’

‘I need to report this,’ said Mac and drew out a report sheet.

Later that morning, Jimbo, who was working at home for the day, went to answer the very demanding hammering on his front door.

There stood Mac, with his serious police face on.

‘Mr Jimbo Charter-Plackett?’

Jimbo was rather puzzled by this question as he knew Mac knew him and that Mac knew Jimbo knew him, but Jimbo nodded his head.

‘Can I have a word please regarding your 999 call last night?’

‘Were we wrong then?’

‘Well, no, our enquiries indicate that you were not wrong, so far.’

‘So it was him? On the TV?’

‘May I come in?’

In a long, roundabout way Mac asked Jimbo if he had thought over the last few weeks that he had had money stolen from the business.

‘Well. You see, between you and me …’ Jimbo explained what had happened to him while Mac took notes. It all appeared very confusing as Mac didn’t want to give out too much information but, on the other hand, he knew Jimbo like a friend and dancing between the two situations in which he found himself, both policeman on duty and friend, got confusing at times, so Jimbo gave him a strong coffee from the machine in the hope that it might clear the air a little.

It was only after Mac had gone with a sheaf of notes in his file that Jimbo remembered the money that disappeared from the Organ Recital Fund tin. He could bet his last dollar that Harry had come in for something or other, spotted the tin, and taken the chance to pinch the money while Bel or Tom had left the till unattended. An opportunistic theft maybe, but stealing just the same. The two of them hadn’t counted Harry as a customer. After all, he was staff, wasn’t he? Too late now to expect either Tom or Bel to recollect if he came in that day. How could they all have been such idiots not to sense what he really was?