The Wild Wood Enquiry (25 page)

“And I suppose suspicion could have fallen on her? The landlady, I mean?”

Roy stared at her. “Oh, I don’t think so!” he said. It was then that he realised that if Ulph had not fallen as a result of weakness and too much alcohol, then a number of people could be suspected of pushing him over the edge of the roof. Yes, the landlady for a start. Then there was Sid or any one of his band harbouring grudges. Or Deirdre, fed up with him and his bad leg.

“You’re smiling, Mr. Goodman,” Miss Pinkney said
gently. “Not too worried about Ivy, then? I am sure that after a good night’s sleep, she will be her old feisty self. I don’t know what we’d do without her at Springfields!”

“Let’s hope we won’t have to, not for many years to come. And once I am her husband, I shall be very firm.”

At this, Miss Pinkney chuckled heartily. “That will be the day!” she said, and offered to help Roy up to his room. “You must be very tired, too,” she said, and patted him affectionately on his shoulder.

IN DEIRDRE’S BEDROOM at Tawny Wings, she stretched out and composed herself for sleep. What a day! And poor old Gus, now whiffling quietly by her side—what secrets was he hiding from her now? Sleep would not come, and she reviewed in her mind the day’s events. Fancy Ivy and Roy being caught up in what could easily be a murder enquiry! And not as investigators but as witnesses to the result of the crime. So who could have killed Ulph? First of all, person or persons unknown. They really knew nothing about the man, and the snippets he had told her by the pool could easily have been a pack of lies.

Oh my God! Suppose they think I could have done it!

Deirdre felt an overpowering need to wake Gus and tell him she hadn’t done it. But then she calmed herself, and thought back over times during the day when she had been alone long enough to have been able to get to Oakbridge and do the deed. And then home again in time to receive Ivy’s call for help with transport. No, not possible, thank God.

She propped herself up on one elbow and looked at Gus. He was nice-looking when asleep. That hunted look had gone, and his fine features were very attractive in repose.
She smiled. Funny old thing, he was. Where had he gone to all day?

Oh! She caught her breath and collapsed back on the pillow. Where
had
he been all day? He’d gone out early, Rose Budd said, and it must have been four o’clock by the time she met him coming home down the lane. Plenty of time to get to Oakbridge and… Oh, Deirdre Bloxham, don’t be so ridiculous! She turned her back on him and, after quite a long time, drifted off into a troubled sleep.

MRS. FEATHER HAD locked up her house and gone to spend the night with her neighbour. She had no other lodgers at the moment, and now that Mr. Ulph was gone, there was no reason for her to stay overnight by herself. The thought of a man possibly murdered in her second-floor back bedroom had temporarily unhinged her, and she had shouted at the police, telling them to go and park somewhere else. “You can take your sirens and winking lights and zebra stripes somewhere else!” she had yelled. “And if that’s the ambulance, get poor Mr. Ulph out of the yard and away to wherever you take dead people as soon as possible!”

And then she had muttered to herself that all kinds of harm had already been done to her bed-and-breakfast business. There were nosey parkers everywhere, out in the street and behind lace curtains. Who would want to come and stay in number seven now? At last the police had gone, and
eventually that nice old couple had been collected and taken home, and now, after little sleep, she was sitting in her neighbour’s back kitchen, drinking strong tea and trying to get yesterday’s horrible events into some sort of order.

“I tell you, this will be the finish of me. I shall have to sell up and go into the workhouse. You will come and visit me, won’t you.”

“Don’t be so daft!” her neighbour said, laughing. “It’ll all blow over in a couple of days. Hey, do you think the wind could have blown him over the edge? There were some strong gusts now and then, and you said he’d been poorly.”

“Now who’s being daft? Of course he wasn’t blown over. Anyway, the police will find out all the details. They’re brilliant these days, with genes an’ that. He probably did fall, now I think about it. He hadn’t eaten for ages, and he lifted the elbow more than most. It seems a hard thing to say, but I reckon I’m well rid of him.”

“And you needn’t worry about the newspapers. There’s been a big fire over at the shoe factory. Still burning, apparently. That’ll fill the front pages, you can bet your life. No, it’ll all be forgotten in a few days. Perhaps a few more questions to answer, and then it will be finished. He had a funny name, didn’t he? What kind of a name is Ulph? Perhaps he was foreign, and all his relatives are dead. You should go to the funeral, out of respect, and then put the whole thing behind you. I’ll come with you, if you like.”

Mrs. Feather knew very well that this was not the act of kindness it appeared to be. Her neighbour was extremely fond of funerals, and here was an excuse to attend another one.

“We’ll see,” she said. “I might just close up for a couple of weeks and go to my sister’s in Brighton. Then I can come back and make a new start.”

“Always supposing the police will give you permission to leave town,” was the worrying reply.

IN BARRINGTON, THE centre of the village was very quiet, as though the death of Sebastian Ulph had spread gloom countywide. Even Hangman’s Row was quiet, where usually neighbours gossiped over the wall most mornings. All doors were shut and gardens empty. Only Miriam Blake was to be seen, hurrying from her backyard to Gus’s with an important question.

“Any luck?” she said as she popped in to offer Gus a home-cooked fish-and-chip lunch.

“Any luck with what, Miriam?” Gus had been miles away. He had come home early from Tawny Wings, and was thinking about the time when Sebastian Ulph had been a regular visitor to the house where he and Kath lived in relative harmony. She had a good explanation, as always, for the periodic attentions of young men, whom she described as her “swains,” as if referring to them in Olde English made the whole thing innocent. Which, of course, it was not. He knew that now, and it still hurt him. She had been so beautiful in those days, and he was well aware at the time that he was considered lucky to have married her. Luck, however, did not feature in Katherine’s plans.

So why
did
she marry him? Because he was good-looking, confident, and mysterious. He had the glamorous aura of being an undercover agent. Life with him promised the excitement of danger. Katherine loved danger, particularly when it involved someone else, and all her instincts were tuned to making sure she survived.

“Hi, Gus, I’m still here!” said Miriam, perching herself on the edge of his rickety sofa. “What I meant was, have
you had any luck getting hold of Kath? I remember you saying she had been a friend of that man who was found dead in an Oakbridge backyard. It was on the local radio. Terrible thing, that. Do you think he was pushed?”

Gus stiffened. “How should I know, Miriam? And I don’t remember telling you anything about Katherine. She must have told you herself, that night she stayed in your house. And no, I have not had any luck telephoning her, and what is more, I do not intend to try again.”

“Okay, okay! Keep your hair on, Gussy!”

“And for God’s sake don’t call me Gussy!” he shouted at her.

Miriam was surprised, but not squashed. She had had parents who shouted at each other all the time and was inured to it. “Forget it, my dear,” she said soothingly. “I just came in to see if you fancied fish-and-chips for lunch? I suppose it should be a roast for Sunday, but I’ve got two nice pieces of plaice. It’s very fresh, and there’s plenty for two.”

She never gives up, thought Gus, and then he smiled. There was something steadfast about Miriam, and he accepted gratefully.

“About twelve then? We can have a glass of primrose wine before lunch. And yes, of course you can bring Whippy. She loves me, don’t you, doggie?”

Whippy, ears down and teeth bared, crept behind Gus’s legs, and he said, “Typical woman! Fickle little creature. When
you’ve
been looking after her, she gives
me
the brush-off! Thanks. See you later.” He turned back to his desk, and she left quietly.

“NOW WE SHALL never know if it
was
Ulph that night,” said Miriam, as they sat at lunch. She placed a new jar of
tartar sauce in front of Gus. “You know that time I heard footsteps going up the lane late at night. Didn’t one of your agency say it could’ve been him?”

“I must confess I have forgotten, Miriam. My goodness, this fish looks good and still smells of the sea! You’re a dab hand with cooking!”

“Do you know,” confided Miriam, forgetting about the night prowler, “that reminds of a holiday we took once at the seaside. There was a small fishing boat that came in and set up a stall by the slipway. They had these small flat fish called dabs, and Mum would buy three and cook them for our supper. We were renting a cottage, and it was the only holiday I can remember as a child.”

“Were you an only child?”

Miriam nodded. “My dad spoilt me rotten. I think Mum was jealous, in a way. When she got old, she didn’t seem to like me much. Hurtful, really. Still, I manage okay now, especially since you moved in next door!”

Gus saw the warning light flashing and hastily changed the subject. They talked about childhood and their parents. But mostly Miriam talked and Gus listened, guiding her every so often away from the subject of Sebastian Ulph.

After they had finished, Miriam suggested Gus have a rest on the sofa while she washed up the dishes. “Then we can relax. I bought a new CD last week you might like to listen to,” she said, and handed it to him. He was alarmed to see it was
Sweet Listening for Lovers
, and he handed it back, saying he really only liked Bach, and perhaps he should be going now.

But Miriam insisted, and he sat hunched up on the sofa, waiting for her to join him from the kitchen.

“I meant to ask you,” she said, drying her hands and
taking off her apron, “where did you get to yesterday? I kept popping round from time to time to check on Whippy, but you seemed to have been out all day, until Mrs. Bloxham came down. Of course, I don’t want to pry! I know how you hate that. But if there is anything I can do to help, you must say.”

Gus got to his feet. “Are you perhaps wondering if I went early into Oakbridge, visited the hapless Sebastian Ulph, quarrelled with him, and in the heat of the moment shoved him off the edge of his flat roof? Maybe we should cook up an alibi for me? I’m sure you would oblige, Miriam. Well, fortunately my trip to Oakbridge had nothing to do with that poor fellow. I was visiting the hospital. Piles, Miriam. Very embarrassing and very uncomfortable. There now, you have the whole story. I must go. Thank you for a lovely meal,” he added, very much as an afterthought. And then he was gone.

For a few minutes, Miriam wondered if she should have a good cry and get Augustus Halfhide out of her system. Then she remembered his angry face and faced the fact that she had been thinking exactly what he suspected. She could call to mind word for word what he had said. He knew Ulph had a flat roof to go out onto. How did he know that? From the local news on telly, of course. But surely piles could be dealt with by a doctor at the surgery?

She went upstairs feeling a little wobbly, and decided to have an afternoon snooze. When only half ready, she went to her dressing table drawer and took out the little parcel containing the pearl and diamond earring. Poor Gus. He must have suffered a great deal when he split up from Katherine.

She replaced the earring and checked under the bed, as
always, fearful of possible intruders. It was well after three o’clock before she finally drifted off to sleep, still brooding about the flash of real anger she had witnessed in Gus. It was quickly over but full of restrained violence. Or so she imagined.

THE LAW HAD gone immediately into action as soon as the police had been summoned to Folgate Street. Areas cordoned off, witnesses identified and questioned, Ulph’s room guarded while any trace of him and his mysterious lady visitor had been taken and recorded. As expected, Mrs. Feather was asked to postpone her visit to her sister, and at Springfields, Mrs. Spurling had difficulty in overcoming an irrational atmosphere of alarm and suspicion.