Bury in Haste (15 page)

‘So what?’ Bunyard’s belligerent manner was returning, along with his confidence.

‘Well, if you want us to forget we ever found you up at the aerodrome, then you’d best tell me what happened that day. We need to know if you met up with Bronc. And we’ve got an idea there was a car parked up the lane, a red sports car. You might have seen who left it there.’

‘Mebbe I did, an’ mebbe I didn’t,’ Bunyard replied, shovelling up the last mouthful of beef from the tin plate. ‘I will tell you somethin’ though, seein’ you’re askin’. It’s a wonder you coppers can find your ’eads to put your ’ats on, an’ that’s a fact. There’s more folk than me know about that ’ole in the fence, an’ there’s others what don’t need to use it. Any more than that I ain’t sayin’.’

‘You don’t want Sergeant Jakes changing his mind,’ Deepbriar warned. ‘Be sensible, Bert, you know something about Bronc. Why do you want to keep it to yourself? What good’s it doing you?’

Bunyard pulled the pudding to him and spooned up a mouthful of plum duff. ‘This ain’t bad,’ he said, spraying custard. He ate in silence for a while, then looked up at Deepbriar, his small eyes suddenly mean. ‘You fooled me. You an’ that young fancy pants detective. There wasn’t no missin’ bombs, an’ there ain’t no Scotland Yard men comin’ from London. It was all a trick.’

Deepbriar shook his head. ‘It’s a serious business trespassing on government land.’

‘That’s as maybe, but I say there weren’t no stolen bombs.’ He glared at the constable. ‘An’ that bein’ the case, you ain’t gettin’ no more outa me.’

‘We can still make things hot for you, Bert, by the time we add up all the charges I reckon you might get six months, or even a year. You don’t want to leave that boy of yours on his own all through the winter, do you now?’

‘What I want or don’t want is my business.’ He dropped the spoon into the empty bowl with a clatter, then drained the mug at one go. ‘How about another cup?’

Deepbriar retreated, bitterly disappointed. Outside the cell he stopped and took out his notebook, writing down what Bert had said, as close as he could recall. More people than him knew the way into the aerodrome. And there were some who didn’t need to use the gap in the fence. But what did that mean?

‘We’ll take another look at the aerodrome,’ Jakes said, once Deepbriar had reported Bunyard’s words. ‘But we can’t keep creeping in like we did to fetch Bunyard and the pig, we’ll have to go through the proper channels this time. That means approaching the Air Ministry, and heaven alone knows how long it will take.’

‘It sounds as if somebody with a key uses it now and then,’ Deepbriar said, looking at the notes he’d made when he spoke to Bert. ‘Unless there’s some other entrance we haven’t found.’

‘Only other way in I can think of is by air,’ Jakes said. ‘Most of those old runways are still fit to use in an emergency, but surely somebody in the village would notice if there were planes coming and going.’

‘You don’t think all that rubbish we invented about a gang using the airbase could turn out to be true?’ Deepbriar asked.

Jakes groaned. ‘I hope not, we’re in enough trouble already. I’ll try to get Inspector Stubbs on the telephone, and see if he’ll help us get hold of the key.’

‘There’s one more thing we could try,’ Deepbriar mused.

‘What’s that?’

‘Get some lad with a sharp suit and a posh accent to act as a Scotland Yard man and put the fear of God into Bert Bunyard.’

Jakes shook his head, grinning. ‘Tempting I admit, but it wouldn’t work, not now he’s got wise to us. We’ll just have to manage without his information. That’s if he’s got any, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s having us on.’

‘That’s possible,’ Deepbriar agreed gloomily, ‘Bert’s a great one for getting his own back. He’s still paying off Ferdy Quinn for something that happened twenty years and more ago; nobody else can even remember what it was.’

‘What we need is a new plan of attack,’ Jakes said. ‘If you’re right then Bronc was killed because of what he saw when Joe Spraggs was abducted, and Joe was abducted by mistake, instead of his second cousin once removed or whatever this other man is. Since we’ve drawn a blank with Bronc maybe we’d better start talking to Joseph’s friends, and see if we can turn anything up that way.’

‘I know where I’d start,’ Deepbriar offered. ‘Sylvester Rudge.’

Jakes looked back at him doubtfully. ‘Mr Rudge is a slippery character. We have to be careful or he’ll be writing nasty letters to the chief constable. It’s no job for a lowly detective sergeant, anyway. No, I’ll start by having a word with Mrs Spraggs and this man Halliwell, and see where that gets us.’

‘This isn’t really anything to do with me,’ Deepbriar reminded him. ‘I was only supposed to be helping you look for Bronc because he vanished on my patch. Shouldn’t I get back to my own beat?’

Jakes looked a little flustered. ‘Sorry, that was something I meant to talk to you about. With Constable Tidyman helping Inspector Stubbs I’m all on my own here. While you were taking Bunyard his lunch I had a word with the inspector and he agreed to open a file on Spraggs. When I pointed out there was nobody to give me a hand he spoke to Martindale. You’ve been officially seconded to the CID for the duration of this case.’

Deepbriar stared at him, saying nothing. It had always been his secret dream, to be involved in the detection of a serious crime, but his requests for transfer to the plain clothes branch had always been turned down. After eighteen years in the service he had given up hope.

‘Well?’ Jakes looked up at him. ‘I hope you don’t mind working with me, constable?’

‘No sir,’ Deepbriar said quickly. ‘As long as you and the inspector have squared it with Sergeant Hubbard.’

‘Don’t worry about that, even Hubbard doesn’t argue when Stubbs and Martindale form an alliance. Like it or not, we’ve got a missing person’s case, and he’ll just have to grin and bear it. Which reminds me, the superintendent asked if you’ve made any progress in locating Tony Pattridge. He must have had lunch with his old friend Childs last night.’

‘I haven’t given it a thought,’ Deepbriar admitted, ‘but as it happens there is somebody who might be able to help.’

‘Finding Bronc has priority,’ Jakes said, ‘until I’ve had a chance to work through this properly.’ He tapped the statements Deepbriar had given him. ‘Finding that young lad who saw the car was a good start, it’s about the only lead we’ve got. Isn’t there anyone else who might have been close by on that Monday?’

‘Not close by,’ Deepbriar said thoughtfully, ‘but thinking about young Kenny Pratt has given me an idea.’

A knock on the door interrupted him, and a young uniformed constable came in. ‘Urgent message for you, sergeant,’ he said, handing over a piece of paper.

Jakes read quickly, his mouth compressing into a narrow line.

‘Well?’ Deepbriar prompted.

‘It looks like we’ve got a murder weapon,’ he said. ‘There were traces of blood on that pruning knife, identical to what was found on the ground behind the bothy and on Bronc’s clothes.’

A
lone cyclist coasted down the hill from Falbrough. Thanks to the heavy rain the road was otherwise deserted, and there was nobody to see Thorny Deepbriar heading homeward, his feet precariously balanced on the handlebars and his mouth open in joyous song. His rumbling bass, improbably attempting the flower duet from
Madame Butterfly
, echoed off the bare trees.

Approaching the crossroads he recovered his decorum, but he was still in a cheerful mood, as, soaked to the skin, he made a sudden detour and pedalled up the slope to a solitary farmhouse occupying an elevated site just outside the village.

‘Constable Deepbriar!’ Mrs Rose welcomed him with a smile. ‘Oh my goodness, you’re drenched! Take that coat off and hang it by the fire, while I put the kettle on.’

‘I don’t want to drip all over your floor,’ the constable protested, hovering on the doorstep. ‘But I did hope to have a quick word with young Oliver.’

‘Then you’ll have to come in, because he’s up in his room. He hardly ever sits in the parlour, even when he’s got a visitor, but I don’t like to force him if he’s comfortable where he is. I’ll make some tea and bring it up. It’s a good job I don’t mind the stairs, I’ve only just come down.’ Her smile broadened. ‘He told me a minute ago he’d seen you coming.’

Deepbriar was suddenly very busy wiping his boots vigorously on the doormat, removing his bicycle clips and shaking the rain off his coat, hiding his blushes as he recalled his unorthodox ride down the hill.

‘You know the way,’ Mrs Rose said, once he was inside. ‘There’s a fire in Oliver’s room, he does love sitting up there with that little spyglass of his.’

‘It’s lucky the lad’s so good at keeping himself occupied,’ Deepbriar said. ‘How’s he getting on?’

‘The doctor was quite pleased with him last week, though there are times when the poor boy finds some of the exercises hard.’ The smile faltered a little. ‘He’s off to hospital to get callipers fitted next month. They say he might be walking in a year, but we’ll have to wait and see. It seems it’s hard to tell with polio, some of them do better than others.’ She turned away, busying herself with the kettle. ‘Go on up,’ she ordered, her habitually cheerful voice a little muffled. ‘Tea won’t be long.’

At the top of the stairs a door stood open and the warm glow of firelight illuminated the landing.

‘Hello, Mr Deepbriar.’ Oliver Rose sat in an armchair by the window, his wasted legs covered by a colourful knitted blanket, his pale pinched face beaming as brightly as his mother’s. ‘I’m going to ride a bike like that one day. I bet it’s fun.’ The boy laughed as Deepbriar pulled a comically rueful face. ‘It’s all right, I don’t think anyone else saw you.’

‘Then make sure you don’t go telling tales,’ Deepbriar said, ‘I’d be in trouble wouldn’t I, playing tricks like that when I’m on duty.’

‘Are you on duty now?’ Oliver asked, his eyes sparkling. ‘Really?’

Deepbriar nodded. ‘I’m looking for a witness,’ he said, ‘for an important case I’m working on. With the CID,’ he added portentously. ‘That makes me a detective, just for the time being. And there’s a chance that a certain young man might be able to help me with my enquiries.’

‘Me?’ the boy’s voice rose to an excited squeak. ‘Honest?’

‘Do you still keep a list of all the cars you see? I know how good you are at spotting number plates through that spyglass of yours.’

By way of answer the youngster picked up an exercise book from the table by his side, opening it to show pages of writing, surprisingly neat for a boy of eight. ‘I put the date down when I get up in the morning,’ he said, ‘so I don’t make any mistakes. Mummy doesn’t always know what day it is,’ he added conspiratorially.

Deepbriar took out his notebook and consulted it. ‘Let’s start with Monday 3rd,’ he said. For the next few minutes the two heads, one blond, the other with dark hair showing the first signs of grey, were bent together over the boy’s notebook. The Austin Healey that Kenny Pratt claimed to have noticed did indeed appear, on the Monday when Bronc was last seen, but Oliver hadn’t been able to get the number.

Mrs Rose came in then, carrying a loaded tray. ‘You look busy,’ she said.

‘I’m helping the police with their enquiries,’ Oliver said importantly.

‘Are you indeed.’ She sat down and poured the tea. ‘And what about me, can I help too?’

‘You might,’ Deepbriar replied, ‘if you remember seeing a tramp called Bronc around the village, nearly four weeks ago?’

She shook her head. ‘No, I heard you were looking for him.’ She handed Deepbriar a cup of tea. ‘He’s been around a long time, hasn’t he? I remember he used to sit on that seat by the school gate sometimes when I was a child, he must have been tramping the roads for thirty years.’

‘At least that long,’ Deepbriar agreed. ‘How about it, Oliver, have you seen him?’

‘I know the man you mean,’ Oliver said. ‘He wears lots of coats and a very old hat. Before I was ill, when we used to go black-berrying, he came and helped us sometimes.’

‘So he did!’ Mrs Rose exclaimed. ‘I’d forgotten. He’s a funny old chap, but harmless.’

‘Would you have written it in your book if you saw him, Oliver?’

Oliver tilted his head on one side, considering the question. ‘I might,’ he said, ‘I put down all sorts of things.’

‘See what you wrote about on the first and second of November. As well as Bronc, I’d be interested in anything that happened over at Wriggle’s yard.’ He stared out at the rain-drenched countryside. ‘You can’t see the entrance from here. That’s a shame.’

The boy studied his book, but once he’d turned back to the right page he suddenly seemed to lose interest. His head was bent as if he was reading, but when he looked up the animated look he’d worn since Deepbriar’s arrival had gone from his face. ‘I didn’t write much on those days,’ he said, his voice suddenly toneless and his pale face ashen. He let the book fall shut on his lap and was silent.

‘I was hoping you might have seen a black car,’ Deepbriar said. ‘A big one. We don’t think it belongs to anyone in Minecliff or Possington. Bronc told me about it, because it nearly knocked him into the ditch, but I can’t find anyone else who saw it.’

Oliver shook his head. He refused the tea his mother offered him, turning his face away. ‘I’ve got a headache. Mummy. Can I go back to bed?’

Deepbriar drained his cup and stood up. ‘I shouldn’t have stayed so long.’ He bent down to the boy, offering his hand. ‘Thanks, Oliver, you were very helpful.’

The youngster shook hands without meeting the constable’s eyes.

Deepbriar went downstairs with Mrs Rose at his heels. ‘I’m sorry, I over-tired him.’

‘Oh no, don’t worry.’ The woman handed Deepbriar his coat. ‘He has these funny turns sometimes.’ A little frown appeared on her brows. ‘I mentioned it to the doctor and he told me to keep a record of them, to see how often they happen. The last one …’ she turned to a calendar that hung on the kitchen wall. ‘That’s it, just over two weeks, the day of Mr Pattridge’s funeral. Jim and I went, and the nurse stayed a bit longer than usual to keep an eye on Oliver for us, she’s almost like one of the family, he’s very fond of her, but when we came home he’d gone all quiet and washed out, like he did just now. The one before that … Well, that is strange. It was the weekend you were asking him about, at the beginning of November.’

‘I’m sorry, sergeant, until I can start searching the aerodrome I’m at a dead end as far as Bronc’s concerned,’ Deepbriar said, unconscious of his apt but morbid pun.

‘Never mind, can you join me in Belston this afternoon?’ Jakes’s voice at the other end of the line sounded harassed. ‘I’ll be calling on Mrs Spraggs at about 3 p.m., you’d better meet me at the corner of West Street.’

‘If I’ve got to travel to Belston is it all right if I look into the whereabouts of Tony Pattridge first? I’ve been given the address of somebody who might know where he is.’

‘What have you got?’ Jakes asked.

‘His childhood sweetheart. Evidently they met up again, they were seen together about a year ago,’ Deepbriar told him. ‘If I catch the bus that leaves Minecliff in twenty minutes I should still be able to join you by 3.’

‘Go ahead,’ Jakes said. ‘I’ll wait for you outside the Swan Hotel. Anything you can do to get on the right side of the superintendent has got to be worth a try, all hell’s going to break loose if this Spraggs turns out to have been murdered. Sergeant Hubbard’s problem with missing persons could get the whole force into trouble. Try not to be late.’

Deepbriar had no intention of being late, not for his first official interview as part of the county CID, though he almost missed the bus, having taken time making up his mind what to wear. In the end Mary advised against the blazer with the silver buttons, suggesting that his blue serge suit was more suitable.

He jumped off the bus in the centre of Belston with the city map open and ready in his hand, negotiating his way swiftly to the little terrace house where he’d been told Barbara Blake still lived with her aged grandparents.

A woman in a brightly flowered pinafore answered his knock at the door, and for a moment he thought he must have come to the wrong address; she didn’t look old enough to be anybody’s granny. ‘Yes?’ She looked puzzled when he didn’t immediately state his business. ‘If you’re selling something …’

‘No,’ Deepbriar said hurriedly; he’d completely forgotten that he wasn’t in uniform. ‘I’m Constable Deepbriar, County Police. Have I got the right house? I’m looking for a Miss Barbara Blake.’

‘Whatever for?’ She demanded sharply. ‘I’m her grandmother,’ she added, ‘I’ll thank you to explain yourself, young man.’

‘We’re making enquiries into the whereabouts of an old school friend of Miss Blake,’ Deepbriar said, not sure whether to be amused, flattered or insulted at being addressed as a young man, especially as he’d assumed the woman was only a few years older than himself. ‘I need to ask her a few questions, that’s all.’

‘Then you’d better go and see her at the library. That’s where she works.’ The door was unceremoniously shut in his face, and Deepbriar stood nonplussed for a few seconds. Was that the sort of reception he could expect as a plain clothes policeman? Recovering his composure along with his wits, he turned and headed back towards the city centre.

As he pushed open the door of the library and stepped into the slightly stale-smelling hush, the clock on the town hall was reading two twenty; not a great deal of time if he was to meet Jakes at three. Unwilling to risk being mistaken for a travelling salesman again, he showed the young assistant his identification.

‘You’d better see Mr Falkener,’ she whispered, ushering him into a tiny room which contained a desk, a single hard wooden chair for a visitor and two filing cabinets.

Mr Falkener looked far older than Miss Blake’s granny, and nearly as forbidding, but once Deepbriar had explained his mission the librarian volunteered the use of his room, and invited the policemen to sit in his comfortable chair. He left, assuring the constable that Miss Blake would be with him shortly. Nearly ten minutes later she arrived, a thin girl with brown hair pulled back in a bun and a pair of dark rimmed spectacles slipping down her nose. Despite this attempt at severity she was exceptionally pretty.

‘I’m sorry,’ the young woman looked flustered, pushing her glasses back into place. ‘The deputy librarian had sent me to buy some more tea.’

‘Without telling the librarian?’ Deepbriar suggested, his eyes twinkling.

She sighed. ‘How did you guess? I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t make me work an extra half hour tonight. What did you want to see me about?’ She looked alarmed. ‘It’s not gran or gramps, is it? There hasn’t been an accident …’

‘No, nothing like that. It’s about an old friend of yours, a Mr Tony Pattridge.’

‘Tony?’ She was suddenly still. ‘You’re here to tell me something happened to him. I knew there had to be a reason …’

‘Nothing’s happened to him as far as we know,’ Deepbriar broke in. ‘On the contrary, there’s a firm of solicitors with news which may be of some advantage to him.’

‘His father.’ She nodded in understanding. ‘I saw it in the paper. But I’m afraid I can’t help you, I haven’t seen Tony for nearly a year.’ Unshed tears were threatening to spill from her eyes, and she dropped her gaze to stare at the worn lino on the floor.

‘That would be about the time Mrs Harris met you both in town,’ Deepbriar hazarded.

‘Yes.’ Barbara Blake looked surprised. ‘How did you know about that? I was allowed to leave two hours early because I’d had to work an extra evening, so we went shopping for Christmas presents. Then Tony bought us some fish and chips and we went to the pictures. We saw Sabrina Fair, you know, with Audrey Hepburn and Humphrey Bogart. It was lovely, we had such a nice time. Tony took me home, the same as he always did, but after that I never saw him again.’ She broke off, blinking rapidly to prevent more tears from falling.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said a moment later. ‘That’s all I can tell you.’

‘You don’t know where Mr Pattridge lives?’

‘I knew where he lived then,’ she said. ‘When he didn’t meet me from work on the following Saturday, like he’d promised, I went round to his lodgings, in case he’d been taken ill.’

Deepbriar took out his notebook and jotted down the address she gave him. ‘I gather he wasn’t there.’

‘No, but I didn’t find out then. His landlady refused to let me in. She wouldn’t even talk to me.’ The young woman took a handkerchief from the pocket of her overall and blew her nose. ‘I don’t want you to think I’m the kind of girl who’d normally do that sort of thing, but I was worried about him. I stood at the bus stop on the other side of the road for quite a while, watching people going in. Mrs Newman had other lodgers, and it was time for their evening meal, I could smell cooking when I went to the door. In the end a young man came out, and I plucked up courage to go and ask if Tony was there. He said he hadn’t seen him, not for a couple of days.’

‘Which day did you go to the pictures?’

‘That was on the Tuesday. I didn’t know what to do. The next time I went to Minecliff I walked over to Oldgate Farm, thinking I might ask his father if Tony was home, but when I got there I lost my nerve.’ She shrugged. ‘In the end I decided that Tony simply didn’t want to see me any more. A girl can’t go chasing around after a man, can she?’