Come Death and High Water (George & Molly Palmer-Jones)

by Ann Cleeves

  Chapter Eleven

  George had arranged to meet Molly on the mainland, in the afternoon. She had been pleased to be invited to join him. He decided, though, to go out in the morning, before the tide. There was little that he could learn now on the island. He needed to know where Charlie Todd went on the Friday before he left to look at the canal project. George’s impression of Charles Todd had been of a physically lazy man who exerted himself as little as possible. Yet on that day he had been up early, he had seen Jerry Packham and Pamela Marshall together on the shore, he had walked to the mainland, and he had walked back in time to see Pamela that evening, and to tell her that the Todds were an “immoral lot”. George felt handicapped by his ignorance of Charlie’s family and the business dealings of Todd Leisure Enterprises. He was sure that for some reason Charles had been to see his brothers that day. And he was sure that the visit was relevant to the inquiry.

  It was a beautiful morning, calm and clear. Soon, on mornings like this, there would be a frost. As he walked down the track near to the Wendy House he met John. The younger man’s hands were filled with the ties of moving bird bags and they were strung round his neck. He was on his way back from the traps to ring the birds he had caught.

  “The island’s crawling with birds,” he said. He was excited. “ It’s going to be a really good day. I can’t ever remember it being as good as this. Isn’t it lucky that you’re here? I’d never be able to get through them all on my own. I was just coming to wake you.”

  George was tempted, for a moment, to stay. He could follow the tide out later to meet Molly. But he shook his head.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m on my way to the mainland. I want to meet Charlie’s brothers. I don’t want to leave it until tomorrow. I can’t get any further without talking to them.”

  “But why? The police aren’t bothering us any more. I’m sorry about Nick, but it must have been him, mustn’t it? Or they wouldn’t have arrested him. Why can’t you leave it alone? You don’t know what you’ll stir up with all your questions.”

  It seemed to George that John was overreacting.

  “No, I don’t know what I’ll stir up. That’s why I must go, you see. I am sorry that I can’t help with the ringing.”

  But John had walked away, sulky because his day had been spoilt, a fantastic figure clothed in the squirming bird bags. Thoughtfully George continued down the track. He waded across the gully and on to the sand. After the rain all the colours seemed very bright and the detail on the mainland was very sharp. It was good, after all, to be away from the island.

  He drove into Gillicombe and parked his car on the sea front. It was just nine o’clock. Jasmine Carson saw him through her kitchen window, and thought for a while that he was coming to visit her. She was disappointed, and suddenly lonely, when he walked past the flats towards the High Street. What was he doing in Gillicombe anyway? she thought. There was a light wind, it had been a clear night, so it should be a perfect ringing day. He should be on Gillibry, helping John. Yet, despite her disappointment and her censure she watched him with affection. Just by being there he had brought the island closer to her.

  Before climbing the hill into the town, George hesitated. He had planned to visit Todd Leisure Enterprises first, to talk to Charles Todd’s brothers, but he turned now towards the police station. He had been devising a theory which might explain Charlie’s visit to the mainland on that Friday and the comment that the Todds were an immoral lot. Savage might help him to confirm it. He walked through the glass doors, gave his name to the duty sergeant and asked to speak to Savage. He sat on an orange plastic chair and waited. He waited for ten minutes, then Connibear appeared. The policeman looked slightly embarrassed, but he spoke easily enough. His skill at deception would, George thought, improve with experience.

  “I’m so sorry, sir,” he said. “Superintendent Savage has asked me to see you. He’s tied up all morning. Some administrative meeting, I believe. Can I help you? Do you want to see Nicholas Mardle?”

  Do I? George thought. No. He has told me all he can. It would only be a distraction. He felt no anger at Savage’s refusal to see him. How pathetic he must seem to the superintendent, an interfering old buffer who could not accept that he might be wrong.

  “I’d be grateful for half an hour of your time,” he said. Connibear sensed no irony in Palmer-Jones’s apparent humility.

  “Of course, sir. I’d be glad to help in any way. Superintendent Savage has told me all about you. But look, this isn’t a very comfortable place to talk. I generally go out for a coffee in the morning. There’s a little place round the corner. It’s better than the canteen. It’ll be quiet now. We can talk there.”

  So, George thought, Savage has told him to get me off the premises. But he smiled and said that he would be glad of a coffee after his walk from the island.

  The café was run by Italians, who served them then took no notice of them. A trickle of workmen came in for bacon sandwiches to take away, but no one else sat at the stained tables. The coffee was hot and very strong.

  “I wanted to talk to you about the Todds,” George said. He had dropped his pose of subservience. “ The business. Todd Leisure Enterprises. You’ve never had any dealings with them?”

  “Professionally, sir? No, I don’t think so. Ernie Todd was done for drunk driving a couple of years ago, but I can’t recollect anything since.”

  “As far as you’re concerned it’s a legitimate business? You’ve heard no rumours of any tax fiddle, VAT fraud, anything which Charles might have used to blackmail the family?”

  “I wouldn’t put it past them, but I don’t know how Charlie would have got to hear about it.”

  “Charles seems to have had a nose for a secret.”

  “So he does, sir. Would you like me to make a few discreet inquiries?”

  “Would you mind?” George was a little surprised at the offer of help.

  “Well sir, Superintendent Savage said that I was to help you in any way I could. I can see what you’re getting at. It would be very interesting wouldn’t it, if there was anything of that sort?”

  Connibear was tactful. He was very careful not to hurry away. It was George Palmer-Jones who looked at his watch and said that he must go. He was satisfied with the interview and walked quickly up the hill to the High Street. He found the Todds’ office very easily. The sportswear shop over which it was situated was smart, the clothes were expensive. There was a separate entrance to the office beside the shop. Inside the stairs were carpeted. At the top of the stairs a secretary sat behind a modern desk. She seemed to be good at her job. As soon as he pushed open the door she smiled at him and said “Good morning”. She was blonde. Her hair was short and well cut in a fashionable sort of way. She sat upright behind her typewriter. There was no bottle of Tipp-Ex in a prominent position on the desk. She had an air of competence and good humour, and she seemed to be very young to have such self-confidence and efficiency.

  “Good morning,” he said. “I’d like to speak to Mr. Todd.”

  “Yes sir,” she said. “Mr. Ernest Todd or Mr. Laurence Todd?”

  “I’d like a word with them both if I could.”

  “I’m afraid Mr. Ernest Todd isn’t in yet. I’ll ask Mr. Laurence if he can see you. Could you give me your name and some idea what it’s about?”

  “Yes,” he said. “ My name’s Palmer-Jones. I’m representing Gillibry Observatory Trust. As perhaps you are aware we were major beneficiaries in Charles Todd’s estate. There were some technical matters I needed to discuss.”

  “Of course,” she said. “ I’ll just see if Mr. Todd’s free.”

  She took him for a solicitor or an accountant. She was about to go into one of the offices. He called her back.

  “Before I see Mr. Todd, perhaps you could help me. I’m trying to trace Charles Todd’s movements in the few weeks before he died. Did he come here at all during those weeks?”

  “No,” she said, without hesitation. “ H
e very rarely came to the office. I would have remembered if he had.”

  She knocked on a heavy wooden office door and went in, shutting the door behind her. When she had asked for George’s name, she had written it in a big desk diary. Very quickly he turned the pages of the diary to 7 September, the Friday before Charlie had gone north to look at the canal boats. At the head of the page was written C. Todd. Underneath, she had written a large question mark. When the girl returned, the diary was back in its right place on the desk.

  “Mr. Todd doesn’t think that he’ll be able to help you,” she said doubtfully, “ but he says that he’ll see you.”

  “Thank you. And you are quite sure that Charles Todd had no meeting with his brothers in recent weeks?”

  “Quite sure,” she said firmly.

  The writing in the diary had been in her hand. She had been told to lie. He wondered who else had been to see the Todds on that Friday.

  Laurence Todd was obviously nervous. He was not used to dealing with strangers. He was not sure what to do.

  “I really don’t think that I can help you,” he said immediately. “Perhaps we had better wait for my brother, Ernest.”

  He had risen from his seat as George entered, and remained now awkwardly leaning against his desk. He did not offer a seat to Palmer-Jones, who stood just inside the door, more at home in the room than its owner. George said nothing and Laurence continued, stammering slightly and rushing his words.

  “You see, our solicitor deals with all the legal details.”

  “I understood that William Marshall was your solicitor. I hardly liked to disturb him at a time like this.” In contrast to Laurence, George’s words were incisive, reproving.

  “No, of course, I see.” Laurence was apologizing. He blushed. “But Ernest consulted with Mr. Marshall. I’m expecting him at any time. If you don’t mind waiting I’m sure that he’ll talk to you as soon as he comes in. I’ll ask Marie to make you some coffee.”

  But George seemed not to hear. He pulled up a straight-backed chair and sat on it. He smiled reassuringly at Laurence, who sank into the lower chair behind his desk. Anxiously Laurence blinked at him.

  “I’m glad of the opportunity to speak to you, while we wait,” George said. “I wanted to tell you how grateful I was, how grateful all the observatory members were, to Charles for his generosity. We would never have been able to establish the observatory without his help.”

  Laurence seemed confused. He muttered incomprehensibly. Finally: “ Thank you,” he blurted. “ Thank you very much. I’ll tell Ernest.”

  “We will miss Charles so much,” George continued. He was beginning to feel sorry for the little man floundering behind the big desk, but he had only a limited time and Ernest might not be so easy to intimidate. “ Unfortunately I didn’t get to the island in time to see him this weekend, but I was in Gillicombe last week, on the Friday, and I saw him then. Perhaps he had come to see you?”

  “No!” There was no stammering or hesitation now. He blinked, took out a handkerchief, wiped a damp nose. “No,” he repeated. “He didn’t come here. He didn’t like us very much.”

  George lied convincingly. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I must have been mistaken. I got the impression that he’d been here.”

  “You saw him? That Friday?”

  George ignored the direct question. “ Charles and I were always such good friends,” he said. “I felt that we always understood each other so well. So when I last met him, I could tell that something was worrying him. That was one of the reasons that decided me to come to see you.”

  “Why? Why should you want to see me?”

  “Not you personally.” George spoke smoothly, kindly, in response to the little man’s rising panic. “I wanted to speak to someone in the family, in the business.”

  “Why? Why?”

  “Because I gained the impression, the very clear impression I must say, that he was concerned about some aspect of the family business.”

  The small, dapper man crumpled behind his desk. George leant back in his chair and waited. He knew that he must be right. Charlie had been in to see the Todds on that Friday and it was clear that the visit had frightened them. He noticed, as he waited, that Laurence’s feet were very small, like a girl’s, and that the shoes were highly polished. He waited because he was quite sure that Laurence would tell him what he wanted to know. He might make excuses, might even lie, but George thought that he would learn enough to guess at the information Charlie had used to blackmail his family. Laurence seemed to be having problems in finding the right words, so George leaned forward and made prompting, sympathetic noises. Laurence’s stammering was reaching the climax of speech, when the door was thrown open and Ernest strode into the room. Laurence seemed uncertain whether to be scared or relieved. Ernest, however, did not notice the drama of the situation, failed to recognize any tension in the room. George composed himself quickly and stood to meet the other man. The brothers were as different as Laurel and Hardy. Ernest was large and blowzy, expensively but a little untidily dressed. He was wheezing after the exertion of climbing the stairs, but he tried for a hearty friendliness. George held out his hand in response. Ernest’s was flaccid, hot and slightly sweaty.

  George made some conventional statements of condolence. Laurence had given all responsibility for the interview to his brother. He sat and warily watched the two standing men.

  “It’s good of you to come,” Ernest said. “We want to keep in touch with the island, don’t we Laurence? As Charlie was so fond of the place. Besides, we never know when we might be able to help each other, do we?”

  George looked up sharply. So Ernest had designs on Gillibry. He hoped that Charlie’s will had been properly drawn up. He had given up all hope of gaining the information he had been about to receive from Laurence, and began to make excuses to leave, but Ernest would hear nothing of it. He shouted out for coffee, pushed George’s chair into a corner and dragged in a more comfortable one from his own office. It took George a little time to realize what Ernest wanted, but it became evident before the coffee arrived. He wanted information and a promise of discretion.

  “I heard on the local radio news that Nicholas Mardle has been arrested,” he said. He made no attempt to disguise his interest. “Do you know what’s likely to happen now? I suppose that the police have closed their investigation.”

  “I suppose that they have.”

  “And then poor Pamela. She was my niece, of course. Terrible business.”

  “Yes,” George said seriously. “ It was quite terrible.”

  “I suppose that there’s nothing that we can do to limit the publicity? For the sake of her children, you know … And my father. He’s a very old man.”

  “I’m afraid not,” George said. “ Nicholas is not a juvenile you see, so the case must be held in open court. Of course if he pleads guilty it will all be over quickly.”

  “Do you think that he’ll plead guilty?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Oh well, I suppose that the business will survive it.” He hesitated, then said: “ There’s no question that the boy did commit the murders, I suppose? It’s not some trick of the police to give the real culprit a false sense of security?”

  Ernest spoke in the same tone of detached interest. George could not tell how important the answer would be to him. He spoke lightly.

  “I think you’ve been reading too many novels, Mr. Todd. The police aren’t allowed to arrest innocent men, not knowingly.”

  “Ah well, you never know.” He was pleased all the same by the answer. He made polite excuses to leave.

  Laurence suddenly came to life. He muttered that he, too, must go out. He had to go through the accounts at the shop. Without Mardle there had been serious discrepancies. Suddenly George found himself alone with the secretary in the outer office. She smiled at him, but seemed bemused by her employers’ disappearance.

  “Oh dear,” George said. “ There was one more question
I had to ask Mr. Todd. Perhaps you could help me?”

  “Of course sir, I’d be glad to help.” She seemed more relaxed, more inclined to chat with both her employers away from the office, and continued: “ I went to the island once, on a field trip. Do you know Miss Carson?”

  “Jasmine Carson?” George said. “ Yes. She’s a member of the observatory.”

  “She was my biology teacher. I still bump into her sometimes. She likes to keep in touch with her old girls. But how can I help you?”

  “I believe that you had a visitor a week ago last Friday. Friday the seventh.”

  “I explained that Mr. Charles Todd hadn’t visited us for some months.”

  “So you did. But I’m not talking about Charlie. Did anyone else come into the office that day?”

  She was about to question his right to ask, but the habit of politeness was too strong.

  “Yes, someone did call in, but I’m afraid I don’t know who it was. She refused to give her name. She saw Mr. Ernest.”

  “Could you describe her?”

  The secretary had obviously been offended by the strange caller. “She was in her late twenties, I suppose. She might have been a bit older. Tall and thin, with long, dark, curly hair. A bit scruffy.”

  Elizabeth, George thought. Why should Elizabeth want to speak to Ernest?

  George went down the stairs without speaking. The secretary watched him go, then composed herself behind her desk, crossed her legs at the ankles and returned to her typing. Just as he was reaching the bottom of the stairs, the door which led out into the street opened. Mark Taylor peered at George through a wild and unmanageable fringe.