‘Of course, but mind the stairs, they’re frightfully dark. The light burnt out last week and Charlie hasn’t replaced it yet.’
They were dark. They were also worn and uneven. I held tightly to the railing, though it quivered a bit under my hand and I hoped it wasn’t going to give way.
Downstairs there was a little more light. Not a lot. A single, low-wattage bulb was burning in a lamp in the single large room. Two day beds and a crib took up most of the available space. A tiny kitchen alcove held a miniature fridge, a three-burner gas stove, a minute sink, a card table, and two cardboard boxes, one half-full of food, the other holding tableware. A closed door presumably concealed a bathroom.
The place was spotlessly clean. A little boy asleep in the crib had that scrubbed, shiny look of a well cared-for child, and so did the bigger boy his mother scooped up in her arms. He whimpered and turned his face to nestle on her shoulder. ‘He really needs to see a doctor, I think, but I daren’t take him out in this awful weather, and the new doctor won’t come here.’ She spoke softly.
‘I’ll drive you to the doctor as soon as we leave,’ said Dennis in a low, gentle voice. ‘You certainly can’t wait for a bus in this monsoon. David would get pneumonia, and you probably would, too. Amy, this is Mrs Martin. She and her husband are looking into the mess at the college, and she thought you might be able to help.’
‘And I’d be happy to stay with the little one while you’re gone, if that would be some help.’ I, too, spoke quietly. None of us wanted to wake the baby.
‘That would be a very great help,’ she said with dignity. ‘Now, please sit down and tell me what I can do for you. Hush, darling, I’ll give you some water in a minute.’
Without a word Dennis went to the kitchen, found a glass, filled it, and brought it to Mrs MacInnes.
‘I’ll only take a minute or two,’ I said. ‘This is obviously not the best time for you to talk. I’m just wondering where I can find the paperwork about Mr Chandler’s hiring. There must be transcripts from his university work, letters of recommendation, that sort of thing.’
Mrs MacInnes frowned and looked at Dennis.
‘It’s on the up and up, Amy. Mrs Martin was the one who found John’s body in the lift shaft, she and her husband, and he’s a retired chief constable, so they’re doing a little burrowing to save the official police some time.’
‘Oh, you’re that Mrs Martin. Dr Temple’s friend.’
‘Why yes! Did you know Dr Temple?’
‘He was still very much a presence on campus when I first started working there. Everyone loved him, and I was no exception. I miss him.’
‘So do I.’ I blinked back sudden tears at the memory of the dear man who had been such a good friend long ago when my first husband came to the university to teach for a year on an Anglo-American exchange, and to me when I moved to Sherebury as a new widow. ‘It was a privilege to know him.’
‘Well, you need Chandler’s credentials. I think I know where to find them, unless they’ve been moved, but it would be a bit hard to tell you. Dennis, do you remember the big filing cabinet that used to be in the copy room?’
‘The one that was moved somewhere?’
‘Yes, and very inconvenient it was, too, but someone decided it took up too much space. There’s a sort of cupboard just down the hall from the small lecture room, and that’s where they put it. I had to walk all that way when I needed a file. Fortunately I didn’t need any of those very often. The information was entered into the central university computer files, naturally, but we keep the paper records just in case. The CVs and other staff materials were in the bottom drawer.’
‘Excellent! So far as I know, that cabinet is still gathering dust in that same room. When we get back here, Dorothy, I’ll take you to them.’
‘Are you quite sure you don’t mind looking after Bruce? It might be quite a long time if the doctor is busy.’
‘I don’t mind at all. Just show me where to find anything I might need.’
There was milk in the fridge and a packet of digestive biscuits in the box, and Mrs MacInnes showed me a small pile of diapers in the bathroom. ‘He’s almost trained, but I give him a nappy when he sleeps, just in case. He may not even wake up until we’re back.’
‘We’ll be fine either way. Now wrap yourself up well, and David, too. It’s dreadful out there.’
I was glad that David didn’t fuss much about being inserted into a raincoat that was too small for him. A full-throated bellow might have wakened Bruce, and no matter how bravely I spoke, I hadn’t babysat very much since my nephews and nieces were tiny, except for Nigel Peter. I wasn’t sure how well I’d cope with a very young stranger.
They got safely out to the door. Bruce never noticed his mother had left. Relieved, I looked around for something to read.
There wasn’t much. A few tattered children’s books made up the library, housed in yet another cardboard box. There was a three-day-old newspaper in a rubbish bin. Mrs MacInnes struck me as the sort of woman who would want to keep up with the world around here, so I guessed that she had to wait until a neighbour or a local shop threw out papers.
I picked up one of the children’s books and found a folding chair leaning against one wall. I sat down to read in the inadequate light.
On a bright day there would be more light. Two windows near the ceiling were very dirty on the outside, but clean inside, and though obscured by weeds, would let in some sunlight. Today there was no sunlight.
I found myself torn between pity and anger. It was iniquitous that a nice woman like Amy MacInnes should be reduced to such dire poverty. She was obviously trying to keep up some sort of life for the children. There were only children’s books in the flat. The sparse store of food was all designed to appeal to children. The boys were well-dressed, even though David’s coat was too small. Amy’s jeans were darned and her shirt well-worn and baggy.
‘Mummy?’ The voice was soft and tremulous.
I stood and went to the crib. ‘Mummy’s had to go out for a little while, Bruce. She’ll be back very soon, and I’ll look after you until then.’
He considered that with a baby’s intense frown. Something was puzzling him. I suddenly realized it was probably my speech. ‘I sound funny, don’t I? I used to live very far away where they talk differently. Now, let’s see if you need a clean nappy.’
There are, after all, things one doesn’t forget. I lifted him out of his crib and discovered that he was, indeed, slightly damp. ‘No nappy,’ he said firmly. ‘On’y in bed.’ I removed the wet one, and before I could catch him he trotted across the room, bare-bottomed, to point out a small pile of minute jockey shorts. ‘Big boy!’ he said with satisfaction.
After ablutions I helped him get into the fresh underwear and long pants, despite his preference for short ones. ‘It’s a cold day, sweetheart. You’ll be warmer in the long ones. They’re for big boys, too,’ I added by way of enticement. He remained dubious, but acquiesced. What a love this child was! He could have been upset to find his mother gone, could have had a tantrum about being tended by a stranger. Instead he was polite and cooperative.
I had no illusions that my own child-minding skills had anything to do with it.
He sat down happily to some milk and a biscuit, and then I let him choose a book for me to read to him. We were happily ensconced in the folding chair with Peter Rabbit when Dennis and Amy came back.
‘Where’s David?’ Bruce and I asked at the same moment.
‘Being looked after,’ said Dennis, with one eye on Bruce. ‘And that’s not the only bad news.’
NINETEEN
Bruce might not have understood the implications of what Dennis had so carefully left unsaid, but he caught the emotional tenor. ‘Mummy?’ he said in a near-wail, and wriggled out of my lap.
Amy hurried over and picked him up. ‘And how’s my little lamb, then? Were you a good boy while Mummy was gone?’
‘David,’ he said. It was a request both fo
r information and for his brother’s presence.
‘David’s got a bad itchy,’ said his mother, ‘and so he wanted to stay where they can help him feel better. Did Mrs Martin give you some nice milk?’
He nodded, his lower lip beginning to protrude. ‘Want David.’
‘I thought you might be a bit lonely, old boy,’ said Dennis, ‘so I brought you a little friend.’ From an inside pocket of his coat he brought out a tiny kitten and put it on the floor near Bruce. It tottered on unsteady legs straight to the little boy and uttered a miniature mew.
‘Pussy!’ said Bruce, and smiled. He held out his hand. The cat licked a finger. The smile turned to a broad grin. ‘Funny!’ he said in reaction to the kitten’s sandpaper tongue. The kitten mewed again, demandingly this time.
Bruce assessed the situation at once. ‘Pussy hungry,’ he said. ‘Biscuit, Mummy.’
‘I expect she’d rather have a little milk,’ said Dennis, ‘and perhaps some of this.’
Out of another pocket he produced a box of kitten kibble. He showed it to Bruce. ‘For Pussy. Not for little boys. Nasty!’ He grimaced and stuck out his tongue to cement the point.
In two minutes Dennis and Bruce had organized a meal for the kitten, and Bruce sat on his haunches watching intently as the little creature ate. Meanwhile Dennis brought out his final purchases, a small litter box, the appropriate filler, and a scoop. He set it up in a corner and, when the kitten had eaten all she wanted, carried her over and set her down in the box. She sniffed, scratched a small depression, and proceeded to use her nice new loo with, again, the fascinated supervision of her new master.
‘I imagine you’re going to have to explain that the box, too, is only for the use of the kitten,’ I said to Amy.
She smiled. ‘I’m sure. But perhaps only once. He learns quickly.’
‘He’s an adorable child,’ I said. ‘I’ll babysit any time you like. He behaved like an angel.’
‘He usually does,’ she said. ‘But he’s going to miss David. They’re very close. I only hope he can come home soon.’
‘It’s the hospital, then? Measles, as you thought?’
‘And a very bad case, the doctor said. That’s why they wanted him in hospital for a day or two. That, and to make it less likely that Bruce will catch them. I don’t know what I’m going to do without David.’ She sounded near tears.
‘My dear, can I make you some tea? You look tired to death.’
‘I don’t think there is any.’
‘I always carry a tea bag or two with me,’ said Dennis, searching again in his pockets. ‘Ah, yes. Darjeeling suit you?’
He busied himself putting the kettle on, finding the pot and cups, pouring milk into them while the tea steeped. He seemed very much at home.
‘I hope no one takes sugar,’ said Amy. ‘I’m afraid I’ve run out.’
‘Not I,’ I lied.
The kitten by now had settled down with Bruce, who was sitting splay-legged on the floor, gently patting the soft fur as the animal purred itself to sleep.
‘That was brilliant,’ I said to Dennis as he handed us our tea. ‘Where did you ever come up with a kitten on such short notice?’
‘In my office,’ he said. ‘One of the students found it outside this morning, soaking wet and shivering. I said I’d try to find it a home. Well, a home presented itself.’
‘Oh, so you stopped at the college?’
‘Yes, and while we were there Amy showed me where the staff credentials ought to be.’
Uh-oh. ‘Ought to be?’
‘The file cabinet was exactly where she thought it was. Everything was exactly as she had left it the day she left the office, except for the staff records. The bottom drawer was empty.’
‘It’s a pity the drawer was touched,’ said Alan when I told him at lunchtime. We sat in the kitchen over steaming bowls of soup, grateful for the warmth of the Aga.
‘Fingerprints,’ I said, nodding. ‘On the other hand, if they hadn’t touched it, they wouldn’t have known the records were missing.’
We thought about that for a while. ‘I didn’t think to ask,’ I went on, ‘but I don’t imagine Dennis touched any of the other drawers. He knew exactly where the records were supposed to be. Whoever took them, though, might have tried all the drawers …’ I trailed off, and Alan shook his head.
‘What do you do when you find that something isn’t where you thought you put it?’
‘You look everywhere else,’ I said with a sigh. ‘Dennis probably tried all the drawers. Well, maybe the thief left fingerprints elsewhere.’
‘Dorothy, any of the staff might have needed to get materials out of that file. We don’t know what else is in it. Fingerprints will prove nothing. So it doesn’t actually matter much about Dennis’s.’
‘We’re not getting anywhere, are we?’
Alan’s answer to that was a shrug. I sat and finished my soup.
Over the dishes, I changed the subject. ‘Alan, you’ve lived here all your life. You know the way English people think, as I never will, quite. Do you think I would offend Mrs MacInnes if I offered her some assistance? Her living situation is pretty dire.’ I described it. ‘And she’s starving herself in order to feed the children. Her jeans were at least two sizes too big, and there was almost no food in the house.’
Alan considered. ‘Love, I haven’t met the woman. Does she strike you as proud?’
‘Self-respecting, at least. She accepted Dennis’s tea, though. He said he always carries some with him, but I wasn’t convinced.’
‘Hmm.’
There was something about the way he said it that made me look at him sharply. ‘You don’t think … he must be twice her age!’
‘Perhaps it’s a fatherly feeling.’
I considered. ‘Well … he did seem very much at home in her kitchen. You could be on to something.’
‘Then he’s the one to ask about offering her help. You’ll have to be careful, though. If he thinks you’re in any way implying that he should be doing something, he could be very angry. The lad has a temper, as I recall. And we must never forget …’
‘That any of the staff could be a murderer. Even Mrs MacInnes. I refuse to believe it of her, though.’
‘A mother defending her young …’ Alan didn’t have to finish the thought.
I drained the sink and rinsed out my sponge while Alan dried the last few dishes. ‘I don’t know about you,’ I said, ‘but I think it’s time to make some lists.’
Alan has sometimes smiled at my inveterate habit of list-making, but it’s my one organizational tool. I don’t know how anyone manages at the supermarket without a list. Christmas lists, lists of errands, lists of chores to be done. There’s a lovely (if spurious) sense of accomplishment even in making the lists, let alone checking off items. And in the various criminal investigations in which I’ve somehow become involved over the years, my lists have often guided me on the path to new ideas and new discoveries.
So we sat down in the parlour with a small fire to cheer us and pads of paper on our laps. We also, of course, had cats on our laps, but their backs make reasonably good writing desks, and they’re used to serving as such. Watson learned some time ago, to his regret, that he’s not a lap dog, so he curled up at my feet.
‘Right. Where shall we start?’
‘How about with a list of the crimes?’
‘They may not all be crimes.’
I waved that away as the pedantic comment of a policeman. ‘Whatever you want to call them. First, of course, Chandler’s death.’
‘Then the next thing is Matt’s disappearance, followed closely by the vandalism in the print studio.’
‘Oh! You don’t suppose—’
‘Save the suppositions for later, love. What’s next?’
‘Gillian’s phone calls. And then the disappearance of the personnel files. Goodness! What a lot of different sorts of incidents! And they may not even all be related.’
‘They all revolve aro
und the College, though, and specifically the Fine Arts staff. Suppose we try to write down all we know about each of them.’
That took a while, and involved a good deal of discussion about what we actually knew (as Alan insisted) versus what we could reasonably assume (according to me). What we finally came up with was a trifle discouraging:
Chandler’s Death
1. Found at bottom of lift shaft.
2. Dead approximately six weeks.
3. Cause of death unknown.
4. Flew to Greece three days after end of term.
5. Not seen or heard of since, in Greece or elsewhere.
6. (Added at my insistence) Someone brought back an apparently unused plane ticket for a return trip from Athens.
7. He was heartily disliked by almost everyone in the department.
8. (Also at my insistence) He was being blackmailed by someone.
9. (Alan did not dispute, but considered it irrelevant) He won an important prize for architecture years ago, but has done nothing important since.
Matt’s Disappearance
1. He was expected at a party in his honour. Didn’t call, didn’t show up.
2. Had been very depressed since the murder of his partner. Friends feared suicide.
3. No signs of foul play at his cottage. His car gone. (I interrupted at that point to ask Alan if the police had found any signs that he had left voluntarily, missing clothes, or whatever.)
4. (Alan’s reply to my query:) His cottage was in perfect order, with no suitcase in evidence, but no one could say whether any of his clothes had been taken.
Vandalism
1. It was done after 2:00 when the police finished searching the building, and before 4:30 or so when we arrived.
(There we stuck. We knew almost nothing more, unless the airline ticket meant something. As far as we knew, Derek and his crew had no clues to who had trashed the studio, much less why.)
Gillian’s Phone Calls
1. Made by someone who knew her mobile phone number.
2. Someone who also knew when the police had taken her phone.
Missing Files
The Gentle Art of Murder Page 15