A Thoughtful Woman

by K T Findlay

‘Who’s Trev?’

  ‘Trevor Thwaites. My foreman. He’s usually here waiting for me to open up in the mornings.’

  ‘Excellent. That’s very helpful. Now, can you think of any reason why anyone would want to hurt Thomlinson?’

  Morris thought for a minute. ‘Hurt him? Yes. Lots! He helped out with the bad debts like I said. That doesn’t make you friends! And of course, you’ll know yourself that being a copper is a good way to make a few enemies, but I’ve never seen any sign of that here. We’ve had the usual threats sorting out the deadbeats, nothing more than bluster. But kill him? Nah. We don’t get up to the sort of things that get you killed.’

  ‘You’d be amazed what people kill for.’ said Peregrin sadly. ‘I’d best have a list of your most truculent deadbeats and whatever details you can give me about them. Oh, and I’ll want to speak with your staff as well.’

  ‘No problem.’ said a surprisingly compliant Morris. ‘You go and chat and I’ll write you out a list.’

  The foreman Trevor Thwaites, confirmed everything Alf Morris had said, but added nothing new. The upholsterer Paul Best, and the frame maker Harry Graham, likewise failed to flesh out Peregrin's picture.

  ◆◆◆

  As she drove up the hill to interview Emma, Susan passed Freddy returning from a visit to the phone box. Sally was knocking on the door for the third time when he reached his own gate.

  ‘She’s not in.’ he offered at the very moment Alan and Emma drove into view. ‘Whoops, Murphy’s alive and well!’ he laughed.

  He waited for the Nixons to disembark and went to introduce himself. ‘Hi, my name’s Freddy, your new neighbour for the next few months. My friend James and I have taken the lease so we can explore your beautiful countryside. Mrs Hinchcliffe’s BnB is great, but we don’t want to overstay our welcome!’

  ‘I’m Emma and this is my son Alan.’ said Emma in return, a little overwhelmed at the force of Freddy’s introduction. ‘He lives just down the road.’ Then she turned to Susan. ‘I don’t think we’ve met young lady.’

  Susan proffered her card. ‘Susan Linklater Mrs Nixon. I’m afraid I need a little of your time.

  Freddy raised his hand to wave goodbye. ‘Then I’ll leave you to it. I want to have these muffins while they’re still lukewarm!’ He gave them a broad smile and returned to his own house.

  ‘Seems a nice enough chap, if a bit overpowering.’ said Alan. ‘When did he move in?’

  ‘Yesterday afternoon. At least I think he did. I noticed the windows open when you picked me up. Could have been the agent though. Well I'm dying for a cup of tea, so you’d best come in love’ she said to Susan. ‘How do you like it?' she asked, taking it for granted that Susan would have one.

  ‘White please Mrs Nixon. I want to ask you both about Edgar Thomlinson, and Andrew Holmes.' said Susan.

  'What, the lawyer and the cop, begging your pardon, police officer?' asked Alan.

  Susan nodded.

  'Well I can't pretend I wasn’t pleased when Holmes snuffed it.' said Alan brusquely. 'Did Thomlinson do it?'

  'No Mr Nixon, he's dead as well. We found him this morning.'

  Emma dropped a mug in the sink. 'Really! How?'

  'We’re still investigating that,' said Susan, 'but the circumstances are similar to those of Mr Holmes.'

  'Well, well, well…' murmured Alan, fetching a clean cup for his mother.

  'As part of our investigation we’re talking to everybody who might have had reason to dislike them both, like you. So can I start by asking each of you where you were last night.'

  'We were in Ipington, together. We went to see the Rocky Horror Picture Show in the theatre and stayed the night.' smiled Emma, handing her the tea.

  Susan looked disbelieving. 'The Rocky Horror Picture Show? Really?'

  Emma smiled. 'I'm in my fifties dear, not dead.’

  Susan laughed. ‘Good answer!'

  'It was a spur of the moment thing. I've got a great friend, Sally Mellors, who's been getting me into new things and encouraging me to be more impulsive. I heard the show was on, phoned up Alan and told him we were going!'

  Alan nodded, smiling. 'That's for real! It's like having a new mum! She's taken up photography, mountain biking, going to musicals, all sorts of stuff. She’s full of life again.'

  ‘And neither of you feel any sadness in either of these men's deaths?' asked Susan.

  'Think back to your school days dear. Was there a bully in your school?' asked Emma in reply.

  Susan nodded.

  'If you arrived at school one morning and the teacher told you the bully had been run over by a car and killed, would you have felt sorry for them?'

  'I suppose not.' conceded Susan.

  'Well, it's the same for us. Holmes’s slippery, deceitful questions and Thomlinson's supposed incompetence,' said Emma, emphasising the word supposed, 'let my husband’s killer walk free. I don't feel sorry in the slightest.’

  She took a sip of tea. ‘Fortunately, Alan and I can account for our movements last night. Tim, my other son, has been away on holiday in Barbados for the last two weeks. So that takes care of Thomlinson’s death. When exactly did Holmes die again? I mean the papers reported it on Sunday, but when did he actually die?'

  Susan finished noting down Emma's remarks in her notebook. 'Last Saturday, February 25.'

  Alan spoke up. 'Oh that's easy! Tim was away like mum said, and we were both right here, around this table with four of mum's friends. We had a games evening.'

  Emma laughed. 'And Alan had to stay the night. He slept on the couch after a bit too much wine!'

  'But you said to your neighbour that he lives just down the street?' queried Susan.

  'Yes I do.' said Alan, a bit embarrassed. 'But there's nothing like a mother's breakfast.' he grinned.

  Susan nodded as she made more notes in her book. ‘I'm afraid I’ll need the names and telephone numbers of the four guests.'

  'Of course dear.' said Emma, and proceeded to rattle them off.

  Susan stood up to go, but something took her eye and she asked one last question. ‘What’s with the flags?’

  Emma laughed. ‘It was Sally’s idea. She said we needed to feel young again, like girls, so she came up with the idea of doing the Swallows and Amazons thing of sending messages by flag. Look, here’s the code book.’

  Susan flicked through it and thought about suggesting Emma act her age, but when she really looked at the woman she could see a light in her eyes and a glow in her complexion that belied her years. Perhaps there was something to this girlish games business after all. She handed back the book.

  ‘Well, it seems to be doing you some sort of good.’

  Emma smiled happily. ‘Oh it is!’

  After Susan had departed, Alan said ‘These social events of yours are wonderfully productive. I don’t suppose you’re ready yet to tell me what’s happening?’

  ‘No dear.’ was the sum total of Emma’s response.

  ◆◆◆

  ‘Why do you always draw attention to yourself like that?’ demanded James when Freddy dropped his muffin down next to the telescope.

  ‘It’s called hiding in plain sight James.’

  ‘It’s called being a twit!’

  ‘Like what we did with that teacher the day Walker’s house was burgled?’ laughed Freddy.

  ‘That was different!’

  ‘Right… of course it was. I’ll get your tea. Anything to report on Sally?’

  James scowled at his back. ‘Nothing yet. Just the painting she did at eight.’

  Freddy came back with the tea. ‘There you go. I’ve got news. Base tells me that the police have found Thomlinson’s body.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘In the road outside Walker’s house.’

  A spray of tea fountained out of James’s cup, liberally spattering the window. ‘Oh that’s helpful!’ said Freddy. ‘I’ll get a cloth, shall I?’

  ◆◆◆

  Peregrin was back in Little Th
rocking, knocking on Sally's front door just after eleven. There was no reply, so he knocked again. This time he heard the thumping of feet and a very cross Sally yanked open the door.

  ‘Yes?' she snapped. ‘Oh, it's you Peregrin. Come in, come in, and close the door behind you. I'm right in the middle of painting and can't stop.' She rushed back through the hall into the kitchen family room and disappeared from view towards the lounge.

  Peregrin quietly closed the door behind him and followed. Hanging on the walls were a number of wide but not very high picture frames, each containing five separate watercolours of the view he could see out the window. Sally was painting the second board of the day, but going much slower than she normally did. She wanted Peregrin to think it was a time consuming process.

  ‘I'm not so sure of this idea, now I'm halfway through it.' said Sally. 'It seemed brilliant when I came up with it, but now I think the only people who'd be interested in buying it would be the meteorological service, or the shipping forecast people! Mind you, nobody can say it's not an accurate record!' she laughed.

  Peregrin walked slowly around the room, idly examining things. Sally had hidden away the camera, and the tape in the video recorder had the Last of the Summer Wine on it. The chair now sitting on a rug, had been unbolted from the floor, the extra bits to secure the straps removed, and the ends of its arms carefully sanded smooth and lightly oiled after Sally had noticed Holmes’s fingernail scratches.

  As he moved into the corner of the room, she suddenly remembered that the head clamp was still resting there underneath its cloth. She watched him out of the corner of her eye get closer and closer to it. When his arm actually brushed the cloth as he reached for a book, she felt she had to act.

  ‘Can you think of anyone else we know who would be stupid enough to do this?’ she asked.

  Peregrin opened the book and flicked through a few pages. ‘Nope. Just you.’

  Then to her relief, he carefully returned the book to its place and walked back to where she was working.

  ‘So, you sit here all day, to make sure you get these five paintings?'

  She nodded, while mixing just the right shade of blue for a patch of sea. 'Sometimes, but if I'm careful, I can zip out between them, like I did to see Hilary the other day.’

  He looked over her shoulder. 'Well, if it's any consolation, they look really good. And much more interesting to look at than a set of figures in a graph! I need to ask you something though. Can you tell me what you were up to yesterday through to right now?’

  ‘Is this an official call Peregrin?' she asked.

  ‘I'm afraid so.'

  ‘Hah! I wondered when you’d turn on me!' she laughed. 'But, in all seriousness, I was painting the panels, that particular one there,' she said pointing to the one on the wall nearest to her, 'except for the flying visit to Hilary which I assume you already know about. Then in the evening after a quick bite to eat in the kitchen, I felt like a bit of company and intellectual stimulation, and went over to Felicity's to beg her to play chess with me. Which she did! I think we played until just after midnight when she booted me out on the flimsy excuse that she had work in the morning. I drove home, went to bed and was painting again at 8 AM. Then I read a book until just now when I started to paint this board and you came to annoy me! And that's the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God your honour.'

  Peregrin laughed.

  She looked up. 'Why are you asking anyway?'

  'Thomlinson was killed last night.' he said.

  Sally’s brush froze above the canvas. ‘Really?’

  Carefully she rested it on her palette before turning to look at him. ‘I’m assuming you don’t think it was an accident? You’d hardly swing by during the day to tell me that.’

  ‘With both Holmes and Thomlinson dead, that makes you a person of interest. It's well-known you hated them both.'

  'Correction Sherlock! It's well-known that I used to hate them. There's a big difference between used to, and currently do. You've known me a long time. Do I still seem as angry now as I was five years ago? Or do you think I've managed to move on?' She looked at him, her eyes filled with mischief.

  He cocked his head. 'To me it seems like you've moved on. I haven't heard you say anything nasty about Holmes for several years, and the last time you were sniffy about Thomlinson was when you introduced us to Emma Nixon in the golf club that day.'

  ‘That's quite a memory you've got there kiddo!' she laughed. 'And if it's one hundred percent accurate, you’ll remember that you were the one who raised it when you told Emma and me that he’d left the police. You can't blame a girl from taking some pleasure from that!'

  'Fair point.' he conceded. 'So you’ve got nobody who can confirm you were painting yesterday?'

  'Oh be fair. I'm not lucky enough to have handsome police officers dropping in on me every two hours! I can however point to the panels, and offer them up for close inspection to the meteorological service, to see if they match the weather we actually had yesterday. If they match, surely it’s reasonable to assume that I must've been here painting?’

  She pointed to the previous day’s boards. ‘I mean look at the first one! It’s just rain streaming down the outside of my window because that’s all I could bloody well see at the time!'

  Peregrin looked carefully at yesterday's painting. 'It certainly looks like I remember it! Okay, I'll accept that.'

  He turned to leave and then had a thought. 'Did you ever have anything to do with Terry Walker?'

  Sally shook her head. ‘Other than painting his wife shortly before she died, no. I seem to remember from the papers and your dinner stories that he was charged with murder, got off and then vanished. Is that right?’

  Peregrin nodded. 'We couldn’t make the charges stick, but yes, that’s the fellow. Thomlinson was dumped outside his house. We're just wondering if we’re looking at three murders now, not two.’

  ◆◆◆

  It was Freddy’s turn on the telescope and he shouted out to James. ‘That cop is leaving now. Seemed to have been a relaxed discussion.’

  ‘Well it would be wouldn’t it?’ snapped James. ‘She’s his bloody friend! Murderous bitch!’

  Freddy sighed. ‘We don’t know yet if she had anything at all to do with Terry’s disappearance. It’s just a possibility.’

  ‘Oh come on! She’s dumped Thomlinson right outside Terry’s door! Look at the evidence!’

  ‘I am. That’s what I mean. It’s circumstantial.’

  ‘She’s got motive!’

  Freddy rotated away from the telescope. ‘Only if she knows that Terry arranged for a hit on her husband. If she doesn’t know that, there’s no motive.’

  ‘She’s certainly capable of it though! Perhaps we ought to go over there and ask her a few questions…’ James was deadly calm now and Freddy could see that he meant it.

  ‘Do you really want to do that? First of all, she’s directly connected to the police here. If anything happens to her they’ll take it personally and really look into things, which we don’t want. Secondly, if it turns out that she actually doesn’t know anything, what are you going to do then? Our cover story will be through the entire police force within the hour.’

  Freddy’s quietly spoken logic stopped James dead in his tracks. He nodded slowly. ‘You’re right.’ Then not wanting to let Freddy get big headed, he served him a backhand. ‘We’ll make an agent of you yet!’

  15 The guts of the matter

  That afternoon, while Tony continued to lead the team interviewing the Beattie Street residents, Susan and Constable Eric Taft were given the job of going over Thomlinson's house.

  Neat and tidy inside and out, the decor was relatively plain and the furniture comfortable rather than smart. There was a complete absence of books in the house, but Eric was most impressed to find a comprehensive library of gentlemen's magazines, neatly bound in folders.

  'Well, we know he had at least one hobby!' he said.
/>   Susan sniffed. 'No accounting for taste.'

  'Oh I don't know,' murmured Eric, 'it's all good stuff, Playboy, Penthouse, and Mayfair. Plenty of good articles in there.'

  Susan fixed him with a stare. 'And you’re sure he bought them for the articles are you?'

  Eric shrugged. 'You get a lot more reading out of the articles than you do from the pictures.’

  'You mean it’s camouflage?'

  'Oh well, if you're going to split hairs! Come on, let's see what else he’s got.’

  After an extensive examination, the only things they found worth noting were that his bicycle was missing and that his property was the only one on the street with a back entrance onto Wick Lane. Otherwise it was a perfectly normal home with no signs of anything amiss.

  ◆◆◆

  Peregrin spent much of the day closeted with Felicity and Thomlinson in the autopsy room. It was late into the evening when Felicity summed up her findings.

  ‘The first things to confirm are that yes he has the same rings of glue around his neck as Andrew Holmes, and that he had neat spirit on his neck, lower face, in his mouth, nostrils and ears.' she commenced.

  ‘The right side of his head above the temple has clearly suffered an impact of some kind. There are traces of tar on the skin and on the hair near that spot. A reasonable assumption would be that he's come off his bike and hit his head as part of the fall. The significant bruising and additional tar on his right shoulder and upper arm, tend to support that hypothesis, as do the tar, dirt and grass stains on his clothes.'

  ‘He has the same kinds of bruising on his wrists and ankles that Holmes had, only much deeper. Possibly he was tied for a significantly longer period of time, and/or he fought a lot harder to get free. He was significantly stronger than Holmes, judging by his muscles.'

  'There are abrasions on his lips at the corners of his mouth, especially the right hand side. There are further abrasions on the skin of both cheeks, running from the corners of his mouth, underneath his ears to the back of his neck. There are traces of hairy string embedded throughout, which implies he was gagged, but there are no traces of the gag itself.’