Goosey Goosey Gander

by Frank Edwards

  “Of course! My wife and I came to you once. Go on!”

  “I remember. No business for me!”

  “Next time. What about your line?”

  “What he said was, and I bet it came from Ma’s lips not something he had sussed out for himself, that he reckoned Tewkes had been shot so that the land would be back on the market.”

  ’Not revert to Jeremy!’ Hole had assumed that this would have been the case. Either through Alan’s Will or as a natural heir. He had not considered that the wetlands would, so to speak, by-pass Jeremy Tewkes. This comment opened up a new field to investigate. It tied in nicely with his placing of that land at the centre of this case. It was in line with his thinking on the first murder, just as the other stuff did on the death of Den. This had been a most profitable pub call. He would need the Chief Super’s backing to get at the current legal status of the wetlands, but that he could rely on. While he followed up the Bracegirt killing, he would ask Davis to take on the land search. Both cases seemed now to be moving forward. Not before time!

  Chapter Twenty

  he two men were greeted this time by the dogs. They had heard them on the first visit. Now, two enthusiastic spaniels, tails wagging furiously, rushed at them from the front of the Grange. ‘Saw no dogs at Wickton’ Hole thought. ‘Strange that. For a shooting man.’ Also, the policeman noted those tails. Grown before the new legislation, or had he obtained exemption? The well-known voice thundered first to bring the dogs to order and then at the two callers.

  “Yes I was; and No I wasn’t. That’s the answer to your two questions. Any others?”

  The former Councillor was too much the politician to be overtly rude. None-the-less, by his tone they knew they had as much chance of a warm invitation to enter the portals as they had with Ma Olive.

  “You are well briefed, sir.”

  “Enderby’s been here. Told me all about it. Yes, I was with him at that very spot yesterday. No, I have been nowhere near the place today. Had thought of going to Matins but changed my mind. Just as well seeing it was cancelled.”

  Hole was not going to be quite so brusquely dismissed even if that was all the old campaigner was going to tell them.

  “Not out shooting? Instead of Matins?”

  “Too cocky by far, young Hole.” Once again, Maitland smiled at the description.

  “No I damned well was not! If I had ever taken a pot shot at Den Bracegirt it would have been on my own land when he was helping himself to my pheasants. Served him right if I had! Sorry he’s dead and all that, but almost inevitable in his way of life. That sort either get careless, never saw him with a broken gun, or you lot put him away from decent, god-fearing citizens.”

  “Not fearing enough to clock in at the church today!”

  “Cheeky young whippersnapper! Inspector or not. I could have you for infamy or something on those lines for a comment like that!”

  “Only want to ensure that you were nowhere near the churchyard with a gun, or without, today.”

  “I’ve already told you. I was not. As for my church-going, I fear the Lord enough not to prowl over his land with a twelve bore on any day. I may even have an alibi if you want one. Went to see Farmer. On his ground. We were planning the coming autumn’s shoot. I can vouch for him and he can for me. Nine ‘till ten for certain. That’s the vital hour Enderby tells me.”

  A few more exchanges followed, centred on what sort of gun was used and from what angle and distance. Not knowing the answers, and fearing pressure to be shown again the wondrous weapons left to him by his father, Hole acknowledged that, for the moment, he had got the answers he wanted and, again for the moment, they would suffice.

  “And I would bloody well hope so”, was the farewell grunt.

  “Where now, sir? Waste of time calling on Farmer, I guess.”

  “Yes. For now. Take Thornley at his word. We must not forget, though, that he has quite a reputation to protect. Quite a status to guard. If Den was about to blab out something to his disadvantage, well, first of all he would as likely get news via the Bell as anyone. Uses it himself from time to time I know. Did especially when he was on the election trail. Secondly, he’s not over-sentimental. If he wanted to shoot someone he would have as easy a conscience over it as anyone could. But you’re right. For the moment let him and Farmer present their united front. I think I’ll pay an unexpected call on Mrs Foxley.”

  “Haven’t we got what we can from her?”

  “About this morning? Maybe. I’ll use the need to check on that gun her father gave her as a reason for this visit.”

  “Ah! Good idea. She probably stands to gain from her brother’s death, I wouldn’t be surprised, from the way she spoke about her visits to him.”

  “You’ve picked up that vibe as well! Good for you. We’ll know more when we get back to headquarters if the Chief Super has had any luck with the land registry people and the lawyers. The gun will do nicely as a calling card. Then if we have the time to fit it in, we might just manage a call at Wickton. To up-date the grieving brother.”

  “Good thinking sir. Where was he this morning?”

  “Not arranging flowers, I don’t suppose.”

  The careful English of the woman who opened the door of Fox Lea was, Hole recorded this time, as flat as it was accurate. As though learned from a tourist phrase book. Well learned. She had a command of the language. That was clear. There was a hesitation.

  “Mrs Foxley already has a visitor. I do not know if she would wish to be disturbed.”

  “Please ask her”, and Hole led his sergeant through the front door into the hall. He hoped to catch sight of the visitor. His instinct was rewarded. Reed came out of the drawing room, turning right towards the back of the house.

  “Mr Reed! We meet again. I didn’t know you were back among us.”

  Reed knew then that his time was up. ‘Never surrender’ being his motto, he turned and advanced on the two officers.

  “Just leaving. Had some last minute business with Mrs Foxley.”

  Hole didn’t want to conduct an interview in the corridor. He could hardly frogmarch the man back into the lady’s chamber, but he did want to ask about his movements. Reed had popped up at each stage of the double-murder investigation. Galina appeared at the door, summoned by the concierge. She was, maybe not surprisingly, somewhat taken a back

  “Inspector Hole! This is unexpected. Surely nothing more has happened since this morning that can concern me?”

  “Nothing of that kind. Not directly, but I do have a line of enquiry I must follow up, and do so hope that you will bear with me. Also, and you really must excuse me on this one, I would like a few words with Mr Reed before he goes. I could, of course, ask him to come with me to the police station, but that may be an unnecessary imposition. If you would allow me the courtesy of your home? There should be no secrets. If Mr Reed has no objection, then I shall be quite comfortable if you stay in the room with us.”

  Hole could possibly have got somewhere in politics or diplomacy. Skills acquired by watching his father and grandfather Councillors at work during his formative years. Galina saw no way out; no grounds for refusal. She indicated consent with her head and, by her arm, an invitation into the bay-windowed drawing room where they had last sat. There was no mention of tea.

  “Mr Reed. My seeing you here is a surprise. Did you drive down today?” Hole had noted the Jaguar parked outside, and, reasonably, had taken it to be the businessman’s.

  Reed hesitated, as though weighing up what was the best play from his beleaguered position, and went for the full frontal assault.

  “No need for officialdom and invented mystery, Inspector. There is neither secret nor suspicion in my simple movements.”

  “Glad to hear it, sir. Back from another trip to the continent?”

  Reed ignored that. He had no leeway in which to play games.

  “I spent last night in Gloucester. Came on down here this morning to see Mr Jeremy Tewkes about some business�
��”

  “… land business?”

  “… unfinished business. After that, I had a drink in the Bell. Then came on to pay a courtesy call on Mrs Foxley on my way home. Nothing for a sleuth hound in that I fear.”

  “Not my purpose, sir. You’ll appreciate that in view of what has happened I can, unavoidably, see a coincidence. Of your visits and dramatic happenings. I take it that by now you know of our second shooting.”

  “Was in the pub when some chaps came in and told the landlord.”

  “Yet you still came on here?”

  “Why not? Nothing to do with Mrs Foxley. This second shooting I mean. Why shouldn’t I call in?”

  “Did you see Mr Tewkes this morning as you planned?”

  “He’ll confirm that, Inspector. I was certainly there. Should I ever need such a thing, between him and the publican of the Bell I can draw up a pretty impressive alibi.”

  Quite a day for such things, thought Hole. How long would it have taken him to drive to the church, walk along the blind side of the embankment, shoot someone, and get clear away? Then back to the pub, or the Grange?

  “You were with Mr Tewkes at what time, then? As exactly as you can recall.”

  “Let me see. I arrived about nine thirty or so. Maybe quarter to tennish. Spoke to Mrs Tewkes until her husband came back from a morning’s shooting, and then got to the pub not much before eleven.”

  Out shooting! From his boss’ face, Maitland knew that a visit to Wickton was now firmly on the agenda for that afternoon.

  Hole probed around Reed’s story, but was happy enough with what he had got out of it. Reed would know that he would cross check with Tewkes and Goschen. The time, about nine thirty, was still open to interpretation. With contact details confirmed, Hole let the unsettled Gresham Reed depart. He turned to his original reason for calling.

  “Mrs Foxley, I fear I have caused you more disturbance that I intended. I called purely on a technical matter. We know enough already to place the gun that shot Den Bracegirt as a twelve bore. We know no more than that as yet. Searches are continuing. When I was last speaking to your brother Mr Jeremy Tewkes, he told me how your father had given each of the three of you, his children, a gun each. A twelve bore. I was then checking the registration details of those owned by your brother. We have collected Mr Alan Tewkes’; he had not used it and had not registered it either. Nor it seems have you. That is the technical matter to which I refer. It is an offence not to register the gun, as it is not to keep it in an officially approved safe.”

  “Is that it! Oh dear! Lordy, lordy! Well, on one score I’m in the clear. The gun is safely caged. My late husband saw to that. He had a gun, you see. Before we married and I came to live here. So, he also had the right safe-keep. I can show you. But registration? I may have to plead guilty. Unless ignorance is a defence. I have no interest in its use. I merely took it that my father had registered it in my name. I never checked, I fear. Do I face a court case? A heavy fine?”

  “Show us the gun, and we’ll take it from there.”

  Galina had no hesitation in leading the two policemen through to a room at the rear of the house. It had thief-proofed windows, Hole noted. Also, Maitland’s experienced eye, when she unlocked the gun safe – with a key taken from a small wall safe; clever touch! – could see that all was as it should be.”

  Hole first said that he would need to take the gun with him, giving a correct receipt, ‘in order to clear it from our enquiries’. He then read her the riot act, told her what to do without delay, no more pressed the risk of prosecution than he had with Jeremy, and after a few more apposite remarks and pleasantries, the two got back into the car and set off for Wickton.

  Maitland was looking at the rifle as they walked to the car.

  “Well secured, sir. Well oiled as well. But probably not much used.”

  “Maybe. Yet she knew, without hesitation where the key was. And did you notice something else?”

  “What in particular? There was no ammunition.”

  “That could be safely locked away elsewhere. No ammunition, sure, yet more interestingly, no other gun.”

  “Her husband’s? That would explain the other marks on the padding. Both rack positions have been used.”

  “She said there had been one. Now, if she got rid of that one when he died – one does clear out on these occasions” – and Hole’s mind went back to the gatehouse – “if so, and if she never uses it, why not get rid of hers at the same time?”

  “Sentimental attraction? Jeremy said something like that.”

  “About his father’s old gun. Not his own.”

  “Interesting. I’d still lay money that this one wasn’t fired today. Nor for some months or longer.”

  “Pity.”

  If Hole had been present during Reed’s visit to Fox Lea he may have found room in his heart for a little pity for the entrepreneur. The main gist, the core, of the conversation had been short and to the point. The land, so far as Galina was concerned, was hers. She gave no indication of what she intended to do with it.

  That settled, taken as read by Gresham as it confirmed what he had been told and had read at Wickton that morning, he began the approach to a partnership between them. He turned on his charm. He also had a brochure of financial facts, allied to some beautifully presented artist’s impressions, showing what could be done and what could be earned from the presently wasted wetlands.

  “You could still sell off or let out the strip along the estuary for shooting by wildfowlers if you so wished,” he added. “Could help placate Jeremy. My birds are safe enough. No danger of any of them getting out to take the air.”

  Galina let him make his business plan presentation. Encouraged, he moved onto more delicate ground.

  “Of course, a partnership can be – rewarding – in more ways that financial. I’ve made my money by mass-producing chickens. Some people consider that an unpleasant business, but you, I feel sure, do not.”

  Galina did not smile as she replied.

  “Correct. My late husband made his money by a more widely despised means than that. And I enjoy spending it without any qualm of conscience.”

  “Well then! Together we could really go places. A match made in the markets. I’m unattached and…”

  “I’ve no interest in any sort of partnership.”

  Hurt by her bluntness he protested.

  “But when I was last here?”

  “When you were last here I was not sure of the succession. Now I am. You are a free man you say? I am an even more dangerous form of life. A free woman. A rich one. I have my own mind and my own plans. And neither, neither of them, has any room for your ruddy chickens or, come to that, your ruddy cheek.”

  Reed had his pride. He was washed up. He, in some anger, had risen and was making his way to the door when he heard the voices in the hall. He didn’t want anyone to see his chagrin. He tried to get out the back way. There must be a back door! Then he saw who it was.

  ’Mr Reed! We meet again. I didn’t know you were back among us.’ That bloody policeman. That’s all he needed! The whole shooting match – good term! – had blown up in his face. He knew then that his time really was up. Off to go to pastures new.

  A pity.

  Chapter Twenty One

  he reception at Wickton was colder than those at the railway carriage or the Grange. Much less so than at Fox Lea. A policeman’s lot is not a welcomed one.” Hole was reporting on his series of visits. Maitland was in the Detective Chief Superintendent’s office with him.

  “It’s clear that Jeremy Tewkes was out shooting that morning. I got from him the name and address of the organiser of that shoot. He confirmed the overall times. But, as with Reed, there would have been time, despite the broad brush alibis, for him to have, on the way home, parked at or near the church, gone along that bank, and killed Bracegirt.”

  “In that case”, this was the sort of argument Davis particularly liked, “one of them must be innocent. If, you s
ay, Jeremy Tewkes had the time in which to carry out the murder then, as Reed was already at Wickton when he got home, Reed himself must be in the clear. Or, again… ”

  The Inspector dared to break in:

  “I’ll go with that. After what we learned at Fox Lea, Reed is probably the least likely to be the killer. No more than that. He’s not altogether in the clear. The Doc says that whilst he’s happy enough with the timing of Den’s death, he could be persuaded to allow a good half an hour before Enderby found him. The effect of the weather and soil conditions. Or some such. The point is, the churchwarden may not have heard the shot after all. It was something else. In any case, Reed is just vague enough about his time of arrival at Wickton to allow for him to fit in the murder. Tight, but not impossible.”

  “If not a shot, what did Enderby hear?”

  “Could have been something else as I say. Maybe a gravestone did fall over. Or that passing train hit a coke tin. Or something. He wasn’t at all sure what it was when he first heard the sound. Still isn’t.”

  “I can see that would let in Jeremy Tewkes. By the same token, it must still rule out Reed. Damn it all man, when Enderby found the body Reed was already at Wickton.”

  “As I say, it just could be done. Shoot, and get to Wickton by, say, nine forty five. ‘Ish’ as Reed said. Accepting the good Doc’s judgement on the possible time scale, Reed hadn’t been at Wickton the whole of the hour.”

  “I get your point.”

  There was a pause in proceedings, then Davis asked:

  “Was Bracegirt shot in the left leg?”

  “Sir?”

  “Left leg?” this from Maitland.

  “Left leg. Don’t either of you know your nursery rhymes? You said, Digger, that this Den was not a prayerful man. Well then,”

  There I met an old man that wouldn’t say his prayers;

  I took him by the left leg, and threw him down the stairs.

  Goosey goosey gander. Come on now! Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of it. I’m sure your wife’s pupils still recite it at times.”