“And Ollie?” Kat asked.
“Nice chap. I mean, a jolly good sort. ‘Salt of the earth’, is the expression I’d use. Hard working lad. But – see – that’s just the thing. I doubt Ollie had any real aspirations... or hopes.”
“A mismatch you think?” Harry said.
“To a stranger like me, when I first got here? Yes. But then, I got to know them and I realised. They had history. Grew up together. Worked together as lads. And that’s the important thing when it comes to being pals.”
“And you didn’t feel like an outsider?” said Kat.
“On the contrary. That was the special thing about them, you see. They made me feel like I was an old pal too.”
Harry saw Will look down at his beer, eyes moist. He waited for a few seconds, so the chap could pull himself together.
“Sorry about that,” said Will, taking his handkerchief from his top pocket and blowing his nose. “Like I said – good pals.”
“Don’t worry,” said Harry. “So, the police asked you about that night.”
“Yes. And well, I knew that Ollie couldn’t possibly have done that to Ben. So, I said I met up with Ollie outside the pub, then walked home with him. Seemed the obvious thing to do. To help out a friend?”
Harry looked at Kat. This territory more hers than his.
“But the story didn’t hold water?”
A sheepish grin from Will. “No. Stupid of me really.”
“And why didn’t your statement stand up?”
“Oh... Dear old Mrs Pinder heard me come in, that’s why,” said Will. “Typical! Seems I made a bit of noise. I mean, we had been at it all evening.”
“You were lucky that Timms didn’t decide to press charges against you,” said Harry. “Lying to the police, even in the service of a good friend, is still a crime.”
“Yes. Idiotic, I know. And, well, it didn’t work.”
Harry still had one last question. But then it turned out his wife did as well.
Exactly the same question...
“Will, if you felt Ollie didn’t commit the murder... then who did?”
“Who did it? Sorry, I’m not a detective. I couldn’t even begin to guess.”
“No idea at all?”
Harry waited, until Will finally spoke.
“Ben worked all over this area – everything from setting up new appliances to full-on electrical installations. What if he crossed paths with someone? Did something happen? Some hidden history that led to someone wanting him dead? I mean, that could be it. But it beats me what that could be.”
As Harry listened he thought, There’s a certain logic to Davis’s words.
But, by every account, Ben wasn’t someone who made enemies like that. And even if it was true, it could take weeks to unearth this mystery person – if he even existed.
And Oliver Brown was due to hang in two days.
“Well, getting late,” Will said, checking his wristwatch again. “Busy day tomorrow. Full day of appointments in Brighton, early start, I’d best—”
Harry quickly smiled as Davis made to get up.
“Will, I – we – want to thank you. All this – very helpful.”
Will smiled back weakly.
“You really think you’ve got a chance of saving Ollie?” he said. “Honestly?”
Harry looked at Kat, then back at Will.
“All I can say is – we’ll do our very best.”
“He’s innocent, you know,” said Will. “It’s a damn shame.”
And with a final nod he sailed out of the pub.
Leaving Harry and Kat alone.
*
“Penny for your thoughts?” said Kat, as she drained her glass and set it on the table.
“Right price, I’d say. Not sure they’re worth much more,” said Harry.
“Things look bad for Oliver, don’t they?”
“And Mabel... the little girl. Terrible. The clock’s ticking.”
“Dawn, the day after tomorrow,” said Kat. “Time running out.”
“And options.”
“Let’s get out of here, shall we? Go through those options.”
“Good idea. Quick dash home; dinner waiting for us, if memory serves.”
“Cocktails first? Loosen some brain cells?”
“I do like the way your mind works,” said Harry. “You really could be one of those – what do they call them? – mindreaders.”
“When it comes to your preferences, I have that all covered.”
Harry got up and went to the nearby coat rack to retrieve their heavy coats.
“Tell me, are all American women so insightful?”
“When it comes to men, I’d say yes.”
“What a country! Button up by the way – my guess is we’ve dropped a few degrees in the past hour.”
Harry took her arm and led the way out of the smoke-filled pub.
Outside, the snow sparkled like tiny crystals on the road.
“Brrr,” Sir Harry said. “Cannot wait for those cocktails. Fireside I’d suggest.”
It was cold but, with Kat tight by his side, he was not at all shivery.
And as they walked to their parked Alvis.
“Kat, I do feel I’ve let Oliver Brown down. Do you feel the same?”
“Yes. But I guess, like we said to Will, we are doing our best—”
Harry felt her lean into him even closer, the two of them nearly one figure against the bitter wind.
In the quiet street, the town of Mydworth all burrowed away from the snow and ice, he picked up the pace.
*
In the front seat of the Alvis, Kat pulled her coat tight, as Harry guided the car carefully through the streets towards home.
To Kat, the snowy scene looked like a Hollywood version of a wintry English village: the warm glow of street lamps, the windows of the Kings Arms steamed up, a couple of locals, heads down against the wind, plodding home across the town square.
As Harry drove up the High Street in silence, concentrating hard as the car slithered on the icy cobbles, he paused at the junction by the church, just outside the Green Man, to let another vehicle slowly pass by.
Kat looked at the pub through the misted side window of the Alvis: remembering, it was here that Ben Carter’s rumoured assignation with Mabel had taken place.
Inside the pub – much more genteel than the Station Inn – a handful of brave souls stood at the bar. In one corner, she could see through a narrow gap in the curtains, a couple sitting close together, their backs to the window, the man’s arm round the woman’s waist.
“Tomorrow, we should go back and talk to Mabel,” she said, but not turning to Harry. “See if we can track down just where that rumour about her and Ben came from.”
“Think it might be important?”
“We’ve only got a day left, Harry. No stone unturned, remember?”
She felt the tyres fighting for grip as the Alvis began to pull away uphill, and as the car moved, the small change of angle suddenly revealed a different view of the couple in the pub.
And Kat could barely believe her eyes.
“Harry, stop!”
He hit the brakes, the Alvis slid on the icy road.
“What is it?” he said, turning to her, looking concerned.
“In the pub. Right there. The man and the woman in the corner.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Harry said as Kat saw him lean forward, peering past her through the half-misted passenger window. “Will Davis, the crafty devil! Thought he said he had an early start!”
“That’s not the point,” said Kat. “Take a closer look. Do you see the woman?”
“I do. You know who she is?”
“Oh yes,” said Kat. “That’s Connie Price – the housekeeper at Blackmead Farm.”
“What? But I thought she—”
As Harry spoke, the couple drained their glasses and stood.
And Kat watched as Will Davis – as if some instinct were in play – turned
to look out of the window, through the curtains, directly at the Alvis.
At Kat and Harry.
Kat quickly dropped lower in her seat, and Harry let out the clutch, so the car instantly moved on, past the pub and around the corner.
“You think he saw us?” said Harry, as they turned just seconds later into the drive of the Dower House.
“I don’t know,” said Kat. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
They pulled up in front of the house and Harry turned off the engine. Then they sat in silence for a few seconds.
“So – what the hell does that mean?” said Harry at last.
“Could mean a lot of things. Could be the break we’re looking for.”
“I agree,” said Harry. “Let’s get into the warm – and see if we can work it out.”
And as they climbed out of the Alvis, Kat’s mind was already buzzing with theories about Will Davis’s relationship with Connie Price.
And how it might connect with Oliver Brown, and his appointment with the hangman’s noose...
12. A Break at Last
Harry opened the drinks cabinet in the sitting room, while Kat checked on the dinner in the kitchen.
“Maggie’s done us proud,” said Kat, coming in. He watched her flop onto the sofa by the fire. “Just heating it up now. Should be ready in half an hour.”
“Perfect timing,” said Harry, offering up the cocktail shaker for her choice. “Your usual martini? I’m having a scotch by the way. The Macallan.”
“Know what?” said Kat, and he saw her kick off her heels and tuck her legs under. “I’ll join you. Night like this.”
He poured the drinks into two of the best crystal tumblers, then took them over and sat on the armchair facing her.
“To a lucky break,” he said, raising his glass.
“We hope,” said Kat, clinking glasses and taking a sip. “Because we’ve got around 24 hours left to crack this, Harry. If that.”
“I know. So, what do you think about tonight’s little development?”
“I think Connie Price deliberately kept Will out of the story she told me. Now there might be a perfectly innocent explanation for that – and said explanation might have nothing to do with Ben and Ollie. But my instinct is... somehow it does.”
“Well, I do so trust those instincts of yours,” said Harry. “Will also didn’t mention he had any link to Ben’s household at all. And – he lied about needing to get home early tonight. Again – as you say – could be innocent. But my instinct...”
Kat took another sip of the Macallan. “Okay – let’s act on those instincts of ours. Dig up everything we can on Will Davis, background, work, history. Talk to Mabel again – but push her real hard on Ben, Will – even Connie.”
“Absolutely.”
“Find out if there’s any truth in that rumour about her and Ben. Gloves off, this time, agree?”
“Yes. I’ll have a word with the landlord at the Green Man,” said Harry. “I know the chap. He’s got a sharp eye and a sharp memory. Plus, perhaps I might be able to get a little... privileged information.”
“Too late to do anything tonight, I suppose?” said Kat.
“Maybe not,” said Harry. “I can put a call into the office now. Overnight desk... someone always there. Make it top priority. Have someone locate the boss of Consolidated Insurance – first thing in the morning. Get them to open up their employee files on Will Davis first thing.”
“There, you see, Harry – like I said – you do have strings you can pull in London.”
“There’ll be hell to pay later, don’t you worry,” said Harry, laughing. “Misuse of powers, that’s what they like to call it. Hardly a matter of national security, this.”
“No,” said Kat. “But arguably more important. A man’s life.”
“Indeed. If a clandestine meeting in a pub really does connect to our wrong conviction, of course. But we mustn’t forget – it may be no more than that. Just another romantic assignation in sleepy old Mydworth.”
“It may be exactly that,” said Kat, finishing her whisky and getting up. “But I think I’ll sleep a fraction better tonight believing that what we saw is important. The break we’ve been looking for.”
“We can only hope. I’ll make that call. Then let’s eat. And then – early to bed?”
*
Kat poured herself another coffee, picked up her slice of toast, then paused as the grandfather clock in the hallway behind them struck seven.
She looked across the breakfast table at Harry, as behind him, through the sunroom window, the first flickers of dawn light appeared.
“This time tomorrow,” she said.
“I know,” said Harry.
“In the end, I couldn’t sleep. Kept waking, thinking about it. Poor Oliver. I wonder if he’s awake now.”
Harry stretched across the table and squeezed her hand. And then the telephone rang.
She watched Harry race to the phone in the hall, then waited, listening to the murmur of his voice, trying to interpret the news from his words.
After a lifetime, it seemed, he came back into the sunroom and sat again, opposite her.
“Well?” she said. “Who was it? Come on Harry, don’t do this to me.”
“The office,” said Harry. “Seems our chaps roused the Chairman of Consolidated from bed in his club last night. Imagine that? And he directly called the Managing Director, who called the London Manager, who called the Head of Personnel, who went to the Consolidated Offices in the Strand, examined the employment files...”
“And?!”
“Turns out there is not a salesman named ‘Davis’. Indeed, there are no so-called freelance agents for Consolidated and never have been. His whole story is a sham.”
“So, Will Davis doesn’t work for them?”
“‘Will Davis’ may not even exist!” said Harry.
“In which case – who is he?”
“Exactly. And what’s he up to in Mydworth?”
“More to the point – if he’s a lie, what does that do to the case against Oliver?”
“Ah, see – well – as of now, not much,” said Harry. “We’ve got no evidence to link him to the murder.”
“Or even a motive.”
“True,” said Harry. “But at least – with this news – we have an angle of attack – something to dig our teeth into.”
Kat looked away for a moment.
“Harry – we need to get into Davis’s lodgings – find out who the hell he really is.”
Before Harry could answer, Kat heard Maggie coming in at the kitchen door.
“Cooee,” she called. “Only me.”
“Maggie,” called back Harry. “Perfect timing. Pop in, could you?”
Kat looked at him and he winked.
“Had an idea,” he said to her.
What’s he up to, she thought, as Maggie appeared at the door in her coat.
“More teas? Coffee?”
“Oh, we’re fine, thanks,” said Harry, “But we do have a question for you.”
“Oh yes?”
“Do you fancy a little espionage this morning?”
“Espionage? Spying, you mean?” she said. “Well, that depends. Oh, wait...” Maggie leaned in conspiratorially. “This to do with young Oliver Brown?”
“It is,” said Harry.
“Well then – what are you waiting for?” said the housekeeper. “Where do I sign up?”
*
Harry peered in through the window of the Green Man and could just see the landlord, Charlie, at one of the tables doing the morning’s paperwork. Harry had known Charlie since the genial old publican had let him sit in the pub garden as a child, sipping free fizzy orange.
He tapped on the glass, and Charlie looked up, recognised him, and came to the doors to unlock.
“Sir Harry – unexpected pleasure,” he said, opening the door and shaking Harry’s hand. “Bit early for a snifter, old boy?”
“How are you, Charlie?” said Harry. �
�Mind if I bother you for a moment? Could use your help.”
“Course. I’ll get one of my boys to rustle up some coffees; we can go through to the snug, there’s a fire already lit.”
Harry followed him through the lounge bar to the cosy, private room at the back where he and Kat sometimes enjoyed a drink with local friends.
The Green Man prided itself on being the classiest of Mydworth’s drinking holes, of which there were not a few.
“So, then, what can I do for you?” said Charlie.
“Two things,” said Harry. “Want to talk to you about Ben Carter and Mabel Brown.”
“I see.”
Bit of caution there, Harry detected.
“And also a chap I noticed in here last night. Will Davis. Name ring a bell?”
“Will? That fella courting Connie Price?”
“That’s the one,” said Harry. Courting? he thought.
So Will Davis’s relationship with the housekeeper at Blackmead Farm is serious?
Question was, why had neither of them mentioned it?
“Tell you what, Sir Harry – let me get that coffee organised,” said Charlie, “and you can explain exactly what this is all about.”
Harry got out his notebook, already jotting down more questions he needed to ask.
*
Kat sat on a hard wooden chair in the scullery of the Brown house while Mabel Brown settled little Elsie into a playpen dotted with toys.
She shivered slightly, even in her coat: the meagre fire burning in the stove didn’t raise the temperature much more than outside. But the mug of tea that Mabel had just handed to her at least warmed her hands.
She watched Mabel at last come over to the scrubbed pine kitchen table and sit facing her. The woman’s face so tired and strained; dark patches under her eyes.
“My Elsie... she won’t settle for long,” said Mabel, with a glance across at her daughter. “It’s almost like she knows, you know? What’s happening.”
“I’m so sorry,” said Kat. “This has to be so hard for you both.”
Mabel didn’t answer, then her eyes narrowed. The look stern, severe.
Terribly disappointed.
“You haven’t found anything, have you?” she said, her voice low. “I can see it. You can’t save my husband. That’s why you’ve come here, isn’t it? To tell me the worst.”
Mydworth Mysteries--The Wrong Man Page 7