Friday
At breakfast, eaten almost at the crack of dawn; Cleo told
Gary quite out of the blue considering how they had spent night, that on
reflection she would be glad to also have him as a friend.
“For a start, I hope I have been a friend since we met, Cleo.
I took your agency seriously not just because I am in love with you, but
because you were the personification of an adventure into crime detection with
which I had lost touch. You gave me my enthusiasm back. If there had been no Robert,
our relationship would have developed much faster.”
“You never said anything,” said Cleo.
“I did. I kept on asking ou when you wre going to ditch
butcher.”
“And I kept on refusing.”
“Dorothy knew,” said Gary. “But I think she thought it was a lost cause.”
“Not the agency, I hope.”
“No. You and me.”
“Of course, Dorothy’s a born sleuth, ” said Cleo. “I’m really
a social worker. Dorothy is a match for Miss Marple. I’m not.”
“Dorothy should be here today. I’d like her to hear what the
three guys have to say for themselves.”
“I want to know what she thinks, too, Gary. She might even
have decided to visit Vera. Shall I find out if she’s there? I’m surprised she
has not been in touch.”
“Have you looked at your messages?”
“Not yet. I’ve been busy with the man in my life.”
“Then look now, please. I wanted to ask her to be here
because she found that first corpse, but can she cope?”
“Dorothy is a coper, but I left her the decision whether to
come. She was too busy yesterday, she said.”
“The suspense is killing me,” said Gary.
“Where and when are the interviews?” Dorothy had written.
“So she came after all! Good old Dorothy.”
“Where are the interviews then, Gary? Surely not in that poky
office at the station.”
“At Headquarters at 11.”
“We could pick you up at ten,” Cleo wrote back.
“OK,” was the curt response. I’m at Vera’s.”
“I guressed that,” Cleo wrote back.
***
“We have hours between breakfast and leaving to collect
Dorothy,” said Cleo. We could go to the beach.”
“Wasn’t there something you had to do a nine this morning.
Isn’t that why we got up so eary?” said Gary. “What about Wetherby?”
“I’ve decided to risk the contract.”
“Very wise, but you’ll have to tell him.”
“That’s what I’m doing now.”
“Great minds thinking alike again,” said Gary, planting a
kiss on Cleo’s neck.
“Man – and woman – cannot live on bread alone,” said Cleo.
***
Gary and Cleo were normally punctilious about arrangements,
so despite being reluctant to break off what Brass would have labelled their post-breakfast-life
back in their hotel room, a fast drive to Vera’s new home left time to say
hello and watch Dorothy pin a hat to the bun that had been her standard hairdo
ever since she could remember.
“You don’t need a hat, Dorothy,” said Gary, quite astonished
to see her dressing up.
“A hat helps me to think,” replied Dorothy. “You should wear
one. A deerstalker, perhaps, like Sherlock Holmes.”
“I’m not sure they make them anymore,” said Gary, exchanging
amused glances with Cleo.
“I’ll get you one,” said Dorothy. “You can get everything
online. You have quite a big head, so I’ll order a big one, shall I?”
“I agree with Dorothy,” said Vera. “Hats help you to think.
They keep thoughts in one place, as it were.”
“Can we go now?” said Gary, amused, but impatient. “I don’t
want us to be late, and I don’t need a hat, Dorothy.”
Gary and the two lady sleuths got into the car. Dorothy had
not quite finished with hats, however.
“I can see there’s plenty of headroom in this vehicle,” she
said. “I don’t like having my hats flattened at the top every time the car goes
over a bump.”
“I’ll try to avoid the bumps, Dorothy,” said Gary. “Have you
thought of any questions you’d like to ask any of the suspects?”
“Certainly. I’ve read all the protocols, Gary, and there are
some discrepancies,” said Dorothy. “I printed out some of the texts and made
notes I can consult if I need to.”
“Great!” said Gary, thinking that Miss Marple would have got
out her knitting.
“Awesome!” said Cleo, thinking the same.
“What sort of a name is Jake, anyway?” Dorothy asked and Gary
was glad that he had done his homework on that topic.
“It’s a combination of his first and second names: Jason and
Kensington, but he has been known as Jake all his professional life and
probably before that,” said Gary.
“What profession?”
“Doorman, blackmailer, gangster, pimp and possibly murderer
if we can pin the Frobisher murder on him,” said Gary.
“Sounds like a nice, friendly guy,” said Dorothy. “What about
that B&B murder? Are we in on that, too?”
“I hope not,” said Gary. “We’ve arrived. Hold on to your hat,
Dorothy. This parking lot looks bumpy.”
***
A few minutes later an armed police guard showed them into
the office they were to use for the interviews. The windows were barred all around
the building. You had to go through a security door and then a second door to
get into the interview room. Since the
three men about to be interviewed were under arrest, there was a lot of
security around. O’Reilly seemed to be leading the pack.
“I’ve been promoted,” he told them. “I’m now a Senior Inspector.
That gives me more authority.”
“I’m impressed,” said Gary. “I’d like to see Jake’s prison
record before talking to him.”
“It’s as long as your arm for a guy just past 30, but nothing
in the past couple of years. He seems to have turned over a new leaf.”
“By being a security guard at the brothel?” said Cleo.
“I expect Ivy Frobisher kept him in check,” said Gary. “Maybe
that’s why he killed her.”
“If he killed her,” said O’Reilly. “I wouldn’t bet on it.”
“Why do you think he might not have?” Cleo asked.
“No strong motive, as far as I can make out. He was in
partnership with Mrs Frobisher. I believe they were as thick as thieves.”
“With a contract to match?” said Dorothy.
“Not exactly, but apparently she had promised him one.”
“Let’s talk to him first,” said Gary. “Bring him in!”
***
Jake was led in protesting. He did not want to be questioned,
and certainly not by Gary and that dark-skinned woman. And who was that old
crow sitting in the corner?
Dorothy had found a seat from where she could observe the
action and be ready to chip in if she felt she should.
“Sit down, Mr Kensington. That lady in the corner is very
good at telling when people are lying.”
“It’s nice to see a pensioner involved in crime,” said Jake,
deliberately misunderstanding.
“She’s my partner, Mr Kensington,” said Cleo.
“I can see she isn’t your mother,” said Jake. “I’m glad you
told her not to buy the yellow outfit if she is, after all.”
Jake was referring to that help call to Gary that day Cleo
had been to the brothel on her own.
“We need to talk,” said Cleo.
“I don’t talk to hookers,” Jake retorted.
“Watch your tongue, Jake,” said Gary.
“That’s OK, Gary. Let him rant on. The more denies it, the
more certain we can be that he did kill Ivy Frobisher.”
“You heard my assistant. Behave yourself,” said Gary.
“I did not kill Ivy,” said Jake.
“All the evidence points to you,” said Gary. “If you didn’t
kill her, who did?”
“Isn’t it your job to find out?”
“Do you have any idea how she got into that beachhut?” Gary
asked.
“She rented it every summer. A place to be alone, she called
it,” said Jake.
“Really. And did you ever go there with her to be alone?”
Cleo asked.
“If you mean did I sleep with her, you’re wrong, Lady.”
“A platonic friendship. Hard to believe,” Dorothy chipped in.
“You haven’t introduced us,” said Jake.
“Dorothy, this is Mr Kensington,” Cleo explained. “Mr
Kensington, this is Miss Price.”
“What about you, Miss Hartley. Are your hooker days over, or
would you still be interested in a job?” said Jake.
“”Are you offering me one, Mr Kensington?”
“It would be more lucrative than shacking up with Frank
Wetherby,” said Jake.
“I only shack up with this guy here,” replied Cleo, pointing
to Gary and wondering how Jake could possibly know about the deal with Frank.
“Wetherby is doing some investigating for my agency, but I expect a little bird
told you that already.”
“I hope he’s looking for Ivy’s killer,” said Jake.
“You’re high on his list, Mr Kensington,” said Cleo.
“When did you last see Ivy,” Gary asked, furious that Cleo
was almost encouraging Jake’s impertinence.
“She left me in charge last Wednesday week. Said she needed
some fresh air and that usually meant that she had a client on hand. I was busy
all night – doing my job.”
“Who else knew that Ivy Frobisher used that beachhut?”
“Everyone here. The keys hung on a hook behind reception. The
girls could go to one if Ivy didn’t need it herself. She rented 3 in all, as
outposts, you’d say, but she usually used the one she was found in.”
“An interesting idea,” said Gary.
“Better than caravans,” said Jake.
“So Ivy will have taken a key,” said Cleo.
“It was hers to take,” said Jake.
“Did Ivy have a boyfriend?” Dorothy asked.
“Not a boy, Miss. She preferred affluent old codgers. Your
generation.”
“That’s interesting,” said Dorothy. She wrote a note quickly
on her memo pad and handed it to Cleo. The note asked if one old codger might be
the man whose dog found Ivy. Cleo passed the memo to Gary.
“We’ll have to find out,” he said to the two sleuths.
“Find out what?” Jake asked.
“Nothing to do with you, Mr, Kensington, but this questioning
is over for today,” said Gary. “Take him away!” he instructed O’Reilly and the
guards.
***
“Can I give you a big hug, Dorothy?” said Gary, and did so. “You
have just pointed out something really vital that I have overlooked, to my
shame.”
“Trust Dorothy to think of that guy’s possible involvement
before we did,” said Cleo.
“We’ll have to bring him in for questioning,” said Gary, “Him
and his doggy friends - the human ones require closer scrutiny than the dogs, I
assume. Is his name anywhere on Ivy’s report, Dorothy?”
Dorothy told him that the man was a member of a canine
society called ‘Woof’. Mr Grant was the only person named and he was the owner
of the setter that had sniffed out poor Ivy’s corpse. Gary buzzed for O’Reilly.
“We need to talk to a Mr Grant, O’Reilly. That’s the guy
whose dog found Ivy Frobisher. He may have something interesting to say. I want
him brought here. Take him by surprise just in case. If you don’t know the
address, the ‘Woof’ dog society will no doubt be able to help you.”
“OK. I’ll get onto it.”
“We’ll postpone the other two interviews till that’s cleared
up.”
“I’ll pass your instructions on.”
“We’ll look for some lunch, Ladies,” said Gary. “Back in an
hour or so, O’Reilly.”
***
The investigatore ordered a pasty each served with the
obligatory tea and buttered bread to tide them over at a coffee shop in the
main street of the one-horse town that housed the police HQ. Tat constabulary
apparently served a large area between the sea and Snowdonia.
Gary put forward his argument. Dorothy nodded approvingly.
Cleo saw the animation between them and might have been a little envious, had
she not known that Dorothy was famous for her mostly accurate hunches, and Gary
was only being appreciative of Dorothy’s tip-off.
Gary had never paid as much attention to Dorothy as he was
now doing, and watching him, Cleo realized just what a great guy he was. Not
many senior police officers would have bothered with the ideas put forward by
an amateur sleuth of advanced age wearing a hat with fruit on it.
***
The frequent exchange of looks between Cleo and Gary had the
power to make Cleo feel distracted and a bit dizzy even in this unromantic environment.
It was a strange situation. Cleo was relieved that Dorothy was reconciled with
what she had seen coming between Gary and herself and had vehemently disapproved
of. Dorothy now sensed the closeness of the relationship between her two best
friends. Yes, Gary was worthy of that best friend status and Cleo deserved to
be loved the way Gary loved her. Robert would find his own way. In fact, Dorothy
already a strong hunch about that, but now was not the time or place to talk about
it.
***
While the trio was enjoying their snacks, Cleo rang Frank
Wetherby to apologise for not phoning the night before and only sending him
text message that morning. She asked him if he knew about the Woof organization
and the people in it. They were taking a break in the café round the corner
from HQ, she told him.
“I’ll join you there,” said Wetherby. “I live quite near.”
Ten minutes later he appeared.
***
“I’m glad to meet you, Frank. You’re contract should arrive
by Monday.”
“Thanks Cleo. I suspected that life was too hectic if you are
driving home today.”
“We should, Frank,. We have to go to a BBQ,”said Cleo. “The
hostess will be upset if we don’t turn up. This outing to Frint-on-Sea was not
planned for today, and our children are parked out.”
“So what about Woof, Mr Wetherby?” said Gary, delighted that
Cleo already thought of Charlie as her child.
“I’m onto that. I have been for ages because of problems with
lost and stolen dogs,” said Wetherby. “The members of that club are a funny lot
altogether. For instance, Ivy Frobisher had a very small dog she took with her
when she went out. They looked very incongruous together, with Mrs Frobisher in
long flowing gowns and a small rat of a dog being dragged along on a jewelled
lead.”
“Do you know anything about a Mr Grant, Wetherby? His name
has cropped up in connection with Ivy’s murder case,” said Cleo.
“Grant’s dog found the corpse,” said Wetherby. “I’m surprised
no one was suspicious at the time.”
“There were enough witnesses to back up Grant’s story,” said
Gary.
“All friends of Mr Grant and I dare say some of them had
skeletons in their cupboards,” said Frank.
“Clubs are a phenomenon. We must talk about them another time,”said
Cleo.”But now we re going to talk to Grant in connection with Ivy Frobisher.”
“I think I can guess how it will end,” said Frank.
“How?”
“I think you’ll have to arrest him,” said Wetherby.
“I’ll let you know how it goes,” said Cleo.
“Thanks, Cleo.”
Cleo got up and went to the café door with Frank. She loved
Gary, but he did not have to know everything the agency was doing before he had
to.
“Can you move your focus to the guys at the Town Hall, Frank,
in particular that wily Town Clerk?”
“Macpherson? I thought you might want that seeing he was
meant to be a victom of that bomb incident, so I’ve already started. He has a
lot to answer for in Frint-on-Sea, but I don’t think he has been going beyond
what his job demanded in the context of that thieving town council. I think he
took good care not to actually break the law. He just bent it.”
“That remains to be seen,” said Cleo. “Be careful not to warn
anyone that they are under scrutiny. I’m sure that bomb was meant to be lethal.”
“You can bet on that Cleo. I don’t want to be blown up in my
car.”
“I don’t want that either. You are my right hand here, Frank.”
***
The hour’s break was drawing to a close. The sleuths had to
plan for Grant’s interview.
“I don’t suppose you are going to tell me what you were
whistering about to Wetherby, were you Cleo?” said Gary.
“No,” said Cleo.
***
While Gary thought he would stick to routine questioning, Dorothy
thought it might be worth asking Grant if he had been “mucking about” with Ivy;
sewing a few wild oats; compensating for a dead marriage; that sort of thing.
They agreed that Gary would get on better with Mr Grant if
the two lady sleuths were not visible. They would witness proceedings from the
other side of the one way glass panel fitted for just that purpose.
***
It had taken quite a lot of time to find Mr Grant, who had
gone for a long walk with his dog and had forgotten to take hismobile phone
with him. He and his colleagues from the Woof Organisation for Canine Fitness
seemed to spend most of their days stalking the woods or beach. Dorothy thought
fitness must bewas for the dog owners rather than the dogs themselves.
***
O’Reilly doubted the relevance of the whole business of
getting Mr Grant to headquarters, but he was curious and in any case, Gary
Hurley was still his senior and must be obeyed.
***
Cleo and Dorothy did not have to speculate long about Mr
Grant before he was brought in by two police officers in a squad car who handed
a court report to Gary. Mr Grant made a scene because his dog had to stay
outside chained to a ring in the wall, and protested loudly when Gary told him
very politely to take a seat.
“What am I here for?”
“Can’t you guess?” said Gary.
Gary read the report and then passed it on to the two sleuths
via one of the security guards. Cleo and Dorothy had already decided that Mr
Grant was an unpleasant specimen.
“I see from the report that you have a criminal record, Mr
Grant, so you should be familiar with this type of situation.”
“What are you talking about, Man?”
“You have two convictions for sexual harassment, one for
bigamy, and a few youthful crimes including stealing cars. I expect you got
away with other crimes.”
“That is all old hat,” said Grant. “I’m a changed man now.”
“How changed?” Gary asked.
“I have found religion,” the man answered.
“Really?”
“And dogs,” said Grant.
“And corpses, Mr Grant?”
“I did not find the corpse. My dog did.”
“So you know which corpse we are talking about.”
“Ivy Frobisher’s, I suppose.”
“Right in one. The burning question is who killed her?”
“I wouldn’t know that, would I?”
“Wouldn’t you, Mr Grant? Was your dog on a lead?”
“No.”
“So it just went into that beachhut.”
“Yes.”
“Had it been in there before?”
“It’s possible.”
“Had you ever been in that beachhut before, Mr Grant.”
“Me? Why would I go in there?”
“To visit Ivy Frobisher, for instance.”
There was a moment’s pause before Grant replied “
Why would I want to visit Ivy Frobisher? She was a notorious
old prostitute,” he sneered.
“Exactly, Grant. Ivy Frobisher was a semi-retired prostitute
with an interest in older men. I’m sure you were intrigued to know how retired
she was.”
“I guessed.”
“Word of mouth? Recommendation? Stalking?” said Gary. “First
time, maybe. But you went again and again, didn’t you, Grant?”
“It’s not a crime.”
“Let’s assume that she hired the beachhuts so as to conduct a
little horizontal business of her own on the side.”
“What are you getting at, Mr Hurley? What Mrs Frobisher did
for a living was no concern of mine. Our affair was one of the heart.”
(Behind the one-way glass Dorothy and Cleo exchanged glances
and clapped silently.)
“You surprise me, Grant. Ivy Frobisher was in her late
fifties, rather plump, though still attractive in an earthy sort of way. She had
masses of job experience, including dealing with men like you who behaved like
infatuated teenagers. What’s more, she enjoyed making a bit of money on the
side, and older men were probably a lucrative target.”
“I wouldn’t know that.”
“Come on Grant. Admit that you were one of her regulars. That
is not a crime.”
“I’m not admitting anything,” said Grant.
“Then I’ll help you, Grant.”
“What makes you think I need help? You’ve been talking
rubbish for the past five minutes.”
“I think not, Grant. Mrs Frobisher did not just have one
customer, but she kept them all well apart. You are about ten years older, still
in good shape and were probably willing and eager to indulge in a bit of slap
and tickle.”
“I’m married, Mr Hurley.”
“And your wife doesn’t go in for that kind of thing any more,
does she, Grant? So you do what many men do in the circumstances: You go elsewhere.”
“I expect you do, too, Mr Hurley,” said Grant, provoked by
what Gary said.
“This interview is not about me, Grant. Shall I tell you what
I think happened the night Ivy Frobisher died?”
Grant shrugged his shoulders. He was playing at indifference,
but he already felt trapped. His twitching hands gave him away.
“You visited Mrs Frobisher as arranged and had sex with her.
That would be on Wednesday evening, when you had told your wife you were going
to take the dog for a walk as usual. Your dog waited outside the beachhut as
usual. After your session with Ivy, you dressed
and went on the beach to let the dog run around for a while. Then you returned
on the spur of the moment and saw another client going into that beachhut after
Ivy had told you that you were the only man in her life. You decided to find
out what the man wanted. Despite what Ivy had said about your relationship with
her, she was letting someone else in. You challenged her about what you defined
as her faithlessness. She laughed at you. You were jealous and made a scene.
The other client came out from behnd the paravent she had put there. He was
stark naked. He grabbed his clothes and left. Ivy Frobisher told you that you were only one of many and
should not assume that her devotion to duty was love. You were incensed,
grabbed her by the throat, throttled her, dragged her prostrate figure towards
the back of the beachhut and for good measure, you stabbed her with the kyour
pocketknife and left.”
Gary paused to let all that sink in.
“Is that what happened, Grant? You’ll feel better if you
admit it,” Gary almost shouted because Mr Grant seemed to be in some of trance.
Of course, what Gary had just said was surmise. As yet it was
only a theory of what could have happened if Jake was as innocent as he claimed
to be.
But Grant broke down.
“I didn’t mean to kill her,” he said. “I thought she was
unconscious and I did not stab her. I haven’t even got a knife.”
“Then you should have called for an ambulance.”
“How could I do that without them jumping to conclusions?”
said Grant.
Cleo thought of the ‘keeping-up-appearances’ syndrome and
people would do to preserve their respectability.
AS if Gar had read her mind he said “So you were keeping up
appearances in such a situation, were you? Afraid of what your wife would say? Either
you left that beachhut thinking Mrs Frobisher was injured or you knew you had
killed her and simply wanted to get away. You went home with the dog and slept
next to your snoring wife who no longer turns you on. Next morning you
deliberately let your dog off the lead knowing that the animal would go to the beachhut.
But now he was not obliged to wait outside while you were in what you thought
was a love nest.”
Grant shuddered.
“The dog barked. You went into that beachhut knowing what you
would find there. Ivy was covered in blood. Had someone else stabbed her? You
told your friends that the dog had found her and raised the alarm.”
“The dig did find her,” said Grant.
***
“What did you do with the knife, Grant?” Gary asked, knowing
that it had probably gone out with the tide eduring the night.
“I said I haven’t got a knife,” Grant insisted, recovering
some of his brashness. “You could not prove it, anyway.”
“How do you know we can’t prove it? We could trace the man
you saw going into Ivy’s hut. He was the last person apart from you to see her
alive, wasn’t he? You said yourself that Ivy was alive when you went back in
and found the guy undressed and clearly there for what Ivy had to offer. I
expect he remembers what time it was. We could also analyse the DNA you left
with her, Mr Grant. The sex act leaves traces unless you use a rubber, and at
her age, Ivy did not need one.”
Grant looked distastefully at Gary.
“Wrong. The last person to see her alive was the person who
stabbed her. and It was not me,” he insisted.
“We will make sure any fresh DNA we find is identified, Mr
Grant.”
“You say she had other partners, “said Grant, who could not
bring himself to call the men clients. “Maybe one of them is guilty.”
“But you’ve already admitted that you did it, Grant.”
“I admit to fighting with her because o that naked man. She
fell to the floor. I was horrified, but I did not stab her.“
Turning to the one-way glass pane Gary said “Did I leave
anything out?”
“We can’t think of anything,” said Dorothy through the
loudspeaker.
Grant looked startled.
“Who the hell was that?” he said.
“Live witnesses, Grant.”
Gary detained Grant and sent him under guard to an arrest cell.
“Get someone to take the dog home to Mrs Grant,” he added. “I
don’t think Mr Grant can use him in prison.”
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