Episode 2 - Facing the music

Friday September 5

Dorothy decided to return to Upper Grumpsfield the following day as planned, despite Sergeant Loo’s expectation. Leaving her walking shoes at Vera’s, she made sure she was at the station in good time for the early train to Crewe; she had things to do at home and was even less enamoured of the idea that she should flock to the police station.

Hardly had Bill left with his aunty-in-law, when Constable Brass knocked on the front door of the house Vera shared with her daughter’s family.

“Surprise, surprise,” said the constable. “I’m here to collect you. You are to come to the station immediately and bring your shoes from yesterday.”

“Oh,” said Vera. “But my sister’s on the train to Crewe, Constable.”

“She was told not to go anywhere,” said Brass, thinking of the dressing-down he would get from the sergeant.  He had not yet got used to the fact that the Welsh shouted louder than the English, putting it down to Celtic bad manners, which certainly applied to Sergeant Llewellyn, though not all the Welsh.

“Oh dear. She’ll be in trouble, Mrs …err…”

“Alton. Like the towers, Constable.”

“Mrs Alton. You’d better explain why Miss err…”

“Price.”

“…why Miss Price has gone to Crewe.”

“Didn’t I hear your personal sergeant say quite distinctly that we were not under arrest?” said Vera.

“He’s not my personal sergeant and he only said you would not be arrested for the time being, Mrs Alton,” said Brass.

“My sister left her shoes here. I’ll get her to come back tomorrow in case you want to arrest her, Constable. Will that do? We’ll say she might have something catching and has stayed in bed today. I’m sure the sergeant won’t want to catch anything catching.”

Brass was visibly relieved.

“That’s a good idea, Mrs Alton. I don’t want to arrest you, but the sergeant has the last word at Frint-on-sea police station.”

“He is a bit awful, isn’t he?”

“I shouldn’t say so, but he’s a pain in the arse, I mean…”

“I know what you mean, Constable. I’ll get the shoes before we set off, shall I?”

“Yes, please.”

“When we get to the station, leave Mr Loo to me, Constable. I know how to deal with unpleasant characters.”

Brass hoped she wasn’t including him in that category.

In a quick phone-call to Dorothy’s mobile phone, Vera told her sister that she would have to come back, if only to save Constable Brass from terrible consequences. Brass was impressed by Vera Alton’s desperate tone of voice, which she had put on for his benefit.

“It’s like this, Dorothy,” said Vera, when Dorothy rang back within seconds, having been rummaging in her handbag for the phone when Vera phoned. “Constable Brass has strict instructions to deliver us to the police station for questioning, and I can’t keep up the act for ever that you have an incurable disease.”

“Tell him I’ve got smallpox. That does not heal in a day.”

“It would be better if you came back and sorted things out, Dorothy.”

“OK, if you think that’s necessary,” said Dorothy. “I’ll get Cleo to drive me, Vera. Gloria can look after PeggySue for a few days and I’m sure Cleo would like to be in on our arrest.”

“Don’t talk like that, Dorothy,”

“I was joking, Vera. That sergeant is a charlatan.”

“Are you sure Cleo will have time?”

“Gloria’s bound to be delighted even if Cleo isn’t,” said Dorothy. “I’ll ring off now. My phone battery is getting very low.”

“All settled,” Vera informed Constable Brass. “Let’s get today’s little ordeal over, shall we?”

“Don’t forget all the shoes, Mrs Alton.”

“Of course not. That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?”

In the police car, Vera was determined to clear up one matter that had been occupying her curiosity and Dorothy’s.

“My sister’s the detective, but since she isn’t here, I must ask you just one question, Constable,” said Vera.

“Go ahead, Mrs Alton.”

“Did the sergeant really visit that brothel?”

Brass was embarrassed. He wasn’t used to mature females asking that kind of question.

“You can tell me,” said Vera. “I’ve been around, you know. I’m not easily shocked.”

That was not the impression she had given him at the beachhuts the previous evening. Little did he know that she had been play-acting for Dorothy’s benefit.

“Well, Mrs Alton, I’m not sure, but I think so.”

“Is he married?”

“No, he isn’t, but what difference would that make?”

“I hope a married man would not visit that kind of place.”

“Where do you think the clients come from then, Mrs Alton, if not stale marriages?”

Vera regretted asking her question. She should have left the interrogating to Dorothy. Brass answered his own question for her.

“The clients are bored, often married and usually sexually frustrated men, Mrs Alton. Not many young men go to houses of ill-repute because they can get girls without paying for them. It’s the older or less attractive men who frequent those places.”

Vera wondered if Brass had seen the sergeant at the brothel because he was there himself, but she did not ask. Though he fitted in quite well with his description of brothel clients, he did not look the kind, though she did not really know what the kind looked like.

“And no, I’m not a client at one of those places, Mrs Alton, if that’s what you were wondering.”

***

When they reached the police station, Brass ran round the patrol car to the passenger door to open it for Mrs Alton to get out in style.

“Thank you,” she said. “I expect you are married, aren’t you, Constable?”

“A widower,” Brass replied. “Wife died of cancer. Left me with three children to rear.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” said Vera.

“Those children have kept me alive, Mrs Alton.”

“I’m sure they have. Children are a great blessing.”

“What have you been blessing, Brass?” bawled a voice from the reception area. The sergeant was unusually early. He normally rolled in at about 11.

“We’ve been blessing our children, Sergeant,” said Vera.

“Where’s the other woman?”

“In bed with a rash, Sir. It could be scarlet fever, so she stayed at home.”

“Quick thinking,” said the sergeant. “I like quick thinking. Have you brought the shoes?”

Vera emptied them out on the counter.

“Not there, woman!” bawled the Sergeant. “Pick them up and take them away, Brass. Blast! There’s sand everywhere.”

At most, 10 grains of sand had found their way onto the counter, but Vera was more interested in getting out of the police station than in starting an argument with the bumptious little man.

“Anything else, Sergeant?” asked Vera.

“Tomorrow.”

“Then I’ll be going,” said Vera, and left.