Goosey Goosey Gander

by Frank Edwards

  Hole indicated that he could, just, recall the rhyme. Or bits of it. He thought the old man, his Super, was pushing it a bit far. Den wasn’t old and no one had shot him in the left leg either. Once more one shot. Accurate. Deadly. At close range in all probability. The edge of the embankment was near the Warburtons’ grave. In a way, the poacher had then fallen down stairs, but the Super was being too fanciful for him. Davis could see that. He went on with the analysis.

  “If Reed is the least likely then, as things now stand, Galina Foxley must be our number one. She seems certain that she has got the lands left by brother Alan. She was there in the church at the right time, and out of sight of your wife as well as everyone else for one if not two spells of greenery hunting. Both spells were long enough to do the dirty deed, so far as we can tell. Can we pin it on her?”

  “Her gun was still in its safe, no attempt to hide it, and, we’re pretty sure, unused recently.”

  “Yes, Maitland, you’ve told me that. It will be tested though, I trust?”

  “Of course, sir. Should hear tomorrow if not later this afternoon whether the rifling matches the killer weapon. But I’m not holding my breath.”

  “The fact remains, she stands to gain, if she has not already gained, the land. Here I have something to tell you. I have had a busy session making contact with an army of lawyers. Macintosh, who acts for Jeremy Tewkes, has been most forthcoming. Ms Garland will go no further in talking about Galina than she can legally avoid. Young Bingley, sidekick to Gaskell who acts for DeLacey Thornley, is quite sentimental about the whole affair. For a lawyer, that is.”

  “He is a wetlands and wildfowl lover, sir.”

  “So I gather, Digger. They are of one, cautious, opinion. Galina is convinced that her argument about becoming a partner with her brother will stand up in court. And she has the money to go there. Ms Garland is adamant that the, unwitnessed, conversations between her and Alan will suffice to allow the final legal opinion to be that they had formed a partnership within the terms of the Partnership Act of 1890, and that their verbal agreement is sufficient to stand as ‘the articles’. In such a case, the business can be continued by the surviving partner where one has died.”

  Hole considered this for a moment.

  “I’m no lawyer, sir, but you say that the business can continue. Does that mean that Galina can keep the land only so long as she continues the bird-watching and preservation business that Alan Tewkes set up?”

  “I’m no more qualified to confirm that than you are. It was a point raised by Bingley who, as I say, was quite passionate that it should be the case. I don’t think he would care who had the place so long as the reserve went on.”

  “Not what Thornley would want, and he’s a man used to getting his own way. Neither Thornley nor Jeremy want that business to continue.”

  “Does that mean that Galina’s life is at risk? This person or persons unknown has killed twice. What’s a third if it’s to preserve a revered way of life?”

  Maitland joined in.

  “Can’t see a third myself, sirs all. The second one was a mistake, surely? We were getting nowhere very fast in tracing who shot Alan Tewkes. No witnesses, no weapon. No footprints or DNA. Nothing. But this second…”

  “… if it is the same person.” Maitland looked in surprise at his Inspector, who continued: “All right. Not very likely that two separate killers shared the same gun. But it cannot be entirely ruled out. X kills Alan. Y steals the gun, and for a separate reason, bumps off Den. Confusion on our part. Again, we lack any witness, and as yet footprints or weapon.”

  “That’s just the point.” Maitland pressed his line. “We might well have a witness. The train driver or whoever. We might yet have footprint or hand print or, who knows, even some DNA by the time the fingertip search is over. It hasn’t rained since the killing. I’m optimistic. We might even find the gun, thrown away in the bushes.”

  “DNA?”

  “Those bushes again. Lot of them about. You’d expect it in a graveyard. Easy to catch a finger, an arm, an ankle even on a thorn. Or why not on the gun itself? If jettisoned as no longer needed? I’m hopeful that we are going to find something. So, I say again, the second murder was a mistake. It will give us leads. We already have more ideas than we had after the first one. So, this murderer is not so daft as to try a third and play even more into our hands.”

  Davis looked at the eager sergeant with an appreciative smile.

  “You’ll be losing him to an Inspector’s course any day now, Digger.”

  Hole silently clapped. Maitland took it in good part. He knew he had made a sensible contribution.

  Davis went on.

  “There are the following, still possible, suspects. Jeremy Tewkes. Wants the land. Was out shooting – I take it his guns are being checked for clearance as a matter of course?” Hole nodded. “So, Jeremy T. Not Mrs I take it?”

  “Nothing to put her in the frame, sir. Didn’t like Alan. Would like her husband to get the land. She feels even more strongly than him I fancy that he should have inherited in the first place. In that event, I’m sure the bulk of it would have been sold to finance her wished-for life style. As fringe benefits, they could ensure all the privacy for the house they want, and still keep some shooting rights along the estuary. She would see that as part of her campaign to keep Jeremy in his rightful social position. I’m sure she is, in so far as she has ambitions, in the Lady Macbeth class. But I don’t see her with blood on her hands. Also, if you’ll excuse a clumsy follow-up, she hated the guts of her sister-in-law.”

  “Oh? where has that piece of intelligence come from?”

  “My wife. The second, unpaid, DI you commented on. Seems at this month’s luncheon club she, Marcia Tewkes, was being vitriolic about Galina Foxley. So far as Annie could gather, she even seemed to be hinting that she held Galina responsible in some way for Alan’s death. Unfortunately, Annie was so seated as to be on the fringe of that conversation and was, unavoidably, being spoken to by her immediate neighbours at table which made it very hard to follow the full force of the complaint.”

  “Indeed? Can’t we rule out Mrs Tewkes then?”

  Maitland sobered things down.

  “Must do, sir. Really. There has not been the slightest indication that she has ever fired a gun leave alone had the stomach for any such action. Also, so far as Den goes, she was settled at Wickton when Reed called. No chance there.”

  “Hmmm. Very well. Jeremy then, alone from Wickton. With double motive. Loss of land and hence money, and loss of shooting rights. Plus, in the case of Den, loss of the good life if exposed by the rogue’s gossip. Thornley? ‘Way of life’ argument, but can you see such a pillar of the church, and of society generally, deliberately killing anyone? Too much to lose, surely?”

  “All that would give him motive for Bracegirt. More so than Jeremy. Couldn’t afford any exposé. Could have paid to have had Alan shot. Wait a minute! Here’s a thought. What if he paid Den to shoot Alan? That would be the perfect reason, in turn, for the second shooting. I must find out more as to what it was he was talking about ‘in his cups’ as Ma Olive put it. There’s also Farmer.”

  “Ah yes. Mr Farmer. On the scene of both deaths. Fair enough stories. On the wrong bank for the first one; not on the bank that day for the second.”

  “Then back to Galina. The prize winner.”

  The Chief Super drew breath. This was a puzzle he was really beginning to enjoy.

  “Come again this time tomorrow. Get anything you can before then. If God’s in his heaven, and can spare us the time, we should have a good idea if anything has turned up in the churchyard, and we might have something back from the Transport Police. Thank you both. I recommend that you do no more today. Have a clear evening in which to clear your minds. We are all in danger of getting too close to things. Not seeing the tree for the woods, as it were.”

  As they parted for the evening, Hole turned to Maitland.

  “Something in what the
Super said. At the end there. Started a train of thinking that I’ve now lost.”

  “He was probably waxing poetic again. Goosey goosey gander! I ask you? Bit off in the circs I would say.”

  “Not that. Woods and trees. He brought them into it.”

  “Could it have been a falling tree that Enderby heard? Not a shot at all? Would widen the field nicely.”

  Maybe. Maybe. Damn it. Lost! The Super’s right. We need to stand back for a few hours. I’ll get Annie to sing me that rhyme as a lullaby.”

  “I don’t think I’ll be needing a lullaby tonight, sir. Bonne nuit.”

  “You’ll be looking for a job touring France as Reed’s interpreter next! Keep your eyes on that Inspector’s course. There’ll be a vacancy if we can wrap this up and I can retire into that wonderful sunset.”

  Maitland made no further reply, and the two went their separate ways having fixed the next day’s rendezvous – as Maitland might have put it.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  ole had hardly got into the house when the front door bell rang. It was the young lawyer Graham Bingley.

  "Have you got a moment? I’d like a few words. With you and Annie if possible. Was on the way home. Been over here on another matter, and took the chance that you might be in. Won’t take much time. Honest!”

  Digger was always willing to learn from the law. Bingley and his wife were on first name terms. They both did stints as part-time volunteers at the WWT Slimbridge. This had always caused him wry amusement. Annie was the botanist of the family; he the ornithologist. Because of the nature of his work, he had never felt able to commit himself to any pre-booked spell of duty at the Centre, regular visitor though he was. It was Annie who gave of her time there.

  “Come in. Of course. I’ll give Annie a shout. A drink or something?”

  “Nothing thanks. Really, just passing by. Thought I’d take the chance.”

  Hole led the lawyer into the neat front room and went to fetch his wife. She came back with him. Again Bingley refused all refreshment.

  “Just wanted you to know something. It’s not professional gossip, I assure you. Public knowledge, but not likely to be trumpeted abroad. You might not get to hear of it until it’s too late.” He had the attention of his two listeners.

  “I’ve got to be careful with my wetlands enthusiasm. My senior partner acts for DeLacey Thornley. But this is nothing to do with that. Directly. It’s to do with the Foxley claim for Alan Tewkes’ land. Susan Garland has dug out a fairly recent High Court ruling that she thinks will clinch their case if there is any dispute that ends up in court.”

  “That sounds worrying. What now?” This from Annie.

  “It relates to an investment bank that bought some debt from an investment fund. Don’t worry about the details. The point is that the deal was set up by phone. When, later, the value of the debt had increased following restructuring, the investment fund sought to pull out, claiming that the deal had not yet been signed. The judge, in effect, supported the old stock exchange mantra that a gentleman’s word is his bond. He ruled that the verbal agreement, by phone, was sufficient to seal the deal.”

  His audience took a few moments to absorb all this, routine stuff though it was to their visitor.

  “To get this straight,” said Hole, “what you are saying is that there are now yet stronger grounds for arguing that the verbal agreement that Galina says she had with her brother is sufficient, of itself, to ensure that she inherits all his land.”

  Barnacle Goose (Barnacle Bill, WWT Llanelli)

  “Just so. Mind you,” and his voice became more cheerful, “we shall want to find out whether the decider in the High Court hearing was that some third party or parties had been involved in any way with the phone call. In effect, was there a witness? There isn’t in the case of Galina. We’ve only her word, her testimony, to go on.”

  “But you don’t know that for sure.”

  “Not yet. I’ve got a bit of finding out and reading up to do. Somebody, some friend she spoke to about it, may turn up. However, it can’t be denied that, on the face of it, Galina’s claim will be strengthened by this ruling.”

  Hole gave some thought to what he had heard.

  “There still remains the line that she could only get the land, as a partner, if she continues the business. That’s what you told my Super isn’t it?”

  “Could be”, was as far as the cautious young man was willing to go. “I’m no specialist in company law. What does bother me, as a WWT man, and here’s the second reason why I wanted to appraise you of developments as soon as I could, and Annie will back me up, is that we, in our group, are very concerned that she won’t. Continue that is.”

  “How can she avoid it?”

  “Not immediately, probably. But, having got possession, and the due nine-tenths of the law, what if she then sold off the bulk of it? To herself, possibly, under some holding company arrangement? If such a new ‘company’ were to find the wetlands project unviable, they’ll have to close it. Or, more simply, she could let the place run down until the supply of visitors dries up. Then, how sad! Either way – market forces!”

  That opinion didn’t ease the growing gloom. Hole felt that some restorative refreshment was now well in order, but made no move to provide any. He viewed the news as a policeman rather than a wetlands enthusiast, keen on that work though he was. This was an interesting development. The Chief Superintendent had put the argument that, as the main beneficiary, Galina Foxley became the chief suspect for the murders of her brother and Bracegirt. If this scenario came about, she would absolutely top the list. Unless, of course, someone – Reed? – was in the running to get that land when Galina sold it? Had their last meeting been to settle something on those lines?

  At this point Hole expected Bingley to leave. He sat on, having something else on his mind. The policeman waited, with the attention of his calling, wondering if what was to come was related to the lawyer’s disclosures. Annie suddenly seemed on edge. Was she involved? The lawyer had said that he wanted to talk to both.

  With a little clearing of the throat, Graham began.

  “Annie has told me of her retirement plans for you.” This brought a bit of light relief to the atmosphere.

  “Indeed she has!”

  “Yes. She doesn’t want to see your specialist knowledge, your bird knowledge, going to waste. The group that I belong to doesn’t want to see Alan’s work go to waste. The thing is, can we help save it? Would you head up such an effort? We have a few backers already, and the RSPB is interested in continuing to help out. As it has been doing.”

  “And still is,” said Hole. “I would remind you that I’m not retired yet. What’s more, the land is not yet available either.”

  “Is it ever really likely to be?” asked Annie. “Your forecast of the Foxley plans is not encouraging.”

  “We don’t know. I still sense, we sense, oh! gossip has it, no more, that Galina Foxley will sell if she gets hold of it all. Then we could make a bid.”

  Hole thought that the lawyer had got on the wrong tack altogether. Such a flimsy-sounding proposal, with no certainty of any purchase being on the cards, was not to his liking. As for his personal involvement, he felt that such speculation was the result of too much over-enthusiastic and idle chatter among those on duty at Slimbridge. In his mind, if there was to be a sale, Galina Foxley would dispose of most if not all to some quite other purpose, and would not consider any charity. Hole did not encourage any more such whimsical speculation. While he didn’t hurry his visitor, he made no effort to detain him and the solicitor duly went.

  “He meant well.”

  “He talked nonsense.”

  The slight chill in the marital air lasted until near bedtime, when normal happy relations were restored.

  The next day Gerald Hole offered to pick up the paper and the milk from Mrs Carmichael’s. Annie usually did on the way to school. There was a fridge in the kitchen there where she could leave the full cream
, no latte for her husband, until she came home. The paper was rarely looked at until then either. School days did not allow for such luxuries. She showed no surprise.

  “Want to get up to date at the real headquarters?”

  “Might pick up a thing or two.”

  “Tell her I’ll be in as usual tomorrow, and that I’m not ill. Unless you do, she’ll have the school closed and me in quarantine before any pupil has time to register today.” Hole grinned and set out.

  He switched off his mobile as he neared the shop. Maitland was briefed and would pick him up as arranged. He didn’t want the thing going off, indicating his enormously important status, while he was trying to get to the point he wanted with the garrulous but well-informed shopkeeper.

  “Mr Hole! Good morning. A nice surprise. Or, I hope it is. Mrs Hole not indisposed I trust?” Mrs Carmichael’s eyes gleamed at the thought of being the first to hear of a crisis about to hit the village school.

  “Not at all. I assure you. But she has an especially busy day today, so I said I would call in and do the necessary. Also, I wanted a copy of the” – he paused, glancing around the shelves – “the Economist. Article I wish to read. Heard about it on the radio.” It was the only magazine that his eye could spot on the instant which he felt was a safe one for him to buy without risking his reputation.

  “Milk today? Mrs Hole usually wants some.”

  “Yes please. I’ve just got time to drop it off home before I go to work.”

  “And you’ve plenty on. We all know that.”

  Hole wondered how to exploit this useful opening. He took time getting the money out of his pocket and then ‘allowed’ himself to make an admission.

  “Slow going, though. This Den business. It’s a problem. We think we are on the trail in the case of Alan Tewkes” – this was a complete fabrication, but got the spark of response he wanted – “but quite where Den fits into it, and we are sure he does, is not so clear. I’ve heard that he was boasting about something to do with the Tewkes death, but Ma Olive is unclear as to what. Don’t suppose he ever came in here talking? More likely the Bell.” he gave a self-dismissive laugh. Mrs Carmichael rose to the occasion. It was her civic duty, no less, to help the police.