Empty Vessels

by Marina Pascoe

  ʻYour plan sounds intriguing,ʼ the girl replied, handing round the teas.

  ʻOur main suspect for the murder of your sister Ivy disappeared on the night of her death and we havenʼt, I should say, hadnʼt seen him since. That is, until last night. We think weʼve spotted him in the town and we want to question him – thatʼs where you come in.ʼ

  ʻYou want me to question him?ʼ

  ʻNo. No, we donʼt, but we do want you to help us apprehend him. You see we feel that if you could come with us to where heʼs been staying and pose as Ivy, it might enable us to find out the truth.ʼ

  ʻYou mean, frighten him?ʼ

  ʻWell, in a way, perhaps. Seeing you might bring it all back to him. It might give us more of an idea about whatʼs been happening.ʼ

  Gloria looked pensive.

  ʻBut, well … of course, if youʼd rather not,’ Bartlett sounded disappointed.

  ʻNo, I didnʼt say that. Will it be safe?ʼ

  ʻYes, Boase and I will be with you the whole time, donʼt worry about that.ʼ

  ʻAll right then, Iʼll do it.ʼ

  Bartlett put down his cup and walked over to Gloria.

  ʻThank you very much, Gloria. This, Iʼm sure, is going to help us – youʼre doing this for Ivy, just you remember that. Now, weʼll come and pick you up at, say ten oʼclock tonight? Hereʼs a description of what your sister was wearing the last time anyone saw her – if you could match this, as closely as youʼre able, then I think thatʼd help. Is that all right?ʼ

  ʻYes, of course.ʼ

  ʻAll you have to do is follow our instructions and everything will be all right. So, weʼll see you tonight – and thank you again, this will be such a big help to us, Iʼm sure.ʼ

  Bartlett and Boase left Gloria to prepare for the evening and returned to the police station to go through their plans.

  Half past nine came and Gloria Hesketh was feeling nervous. She had been ready for almost an hour. She had managed to dress much the same as her sister had, although Gloriaʼs clothes were much finer and well made – it was impossible to replicate the cheap fabric and the worn-out look that Ivy had become accustomed to. She felt sad and guilty that Ivy had had nothing. She had already learned that her twin had been a prostitute and felt very unhappy that the poor girl had had to earn a living that way.

  At five minutes to ten there was a knock at the door. Gloria went to open it. There were Bartlett and Boase.

  ʻHello, come in.ʼ The two men followed the girl into the house. Bartlett stared at her; the likeness was striking.

  ʻIʼm sorry, you startled me a bit. You look so much like her,ʼ Bartlett explained.

  ʻWell, we were twins.ʼ

  ʻYes, of course. I was just a bit shocked thatʼs all.ʼ

  ʻHave I dressed all right?ʼ Gloria spun round.

  ʻJust right, Iʼd say – wouldnʼt you, Boase?ʼ

  ʻYes, most definitely.ʼ

  Bartlett handed the girl her bag – even that looked just right. Gloria had really done a good job.

  ʻNow remember, Gloria, thereʼs nothing to worry about – Boase and I will be with you all the time. Weʼre just trying to entice your sisterʼs killer; heʼs got nothing against you and heʼll know straight away that the gameʼs up. All right?ʼ

  ʻAll right,ʼ replied Gloria, nervously.

  The three left the Avenue Road house and prepared for anything that might happen. Although it was a short distance, Bartlett had brought a car. It was a cold night and he didnʼt want Gloria to be uncomfortable – she was doing them a very big favour. Within a few minutes they were at Pendennis Point and Bartlett parked the car. The three got out, Gloria looking all around her and feeling worried. Bartlett squeezed her arm. They walked across the road to where they could see the St Piran along with the other wooden boats. There was a light showing again. Boase led the way down the footpath, followed by Gloria, then Bartlett. As they got closer they heard voices and music, Bartlett thought it sounded like a gramophone. They stood on the edge of the cliff and watched the boat which was gently bobbing on the water.

  ʻIʼm going on board, Boase,ʼ Bartlett whispered to his assistant. ʻYou wait here with Gloria.ʼ

  ʻThatʼs a bad idea, sir, weʼre coming with you, just in case.ʼ

  ʻAll right, but keep that young woman behind you at all times, do you hear me?ʼ

  ʻRight-oh.ʼ

  The three stood at the edge of the cliff and Bartlett jumped the short gap from land to boat. He turned and offered his hand to Gloria. He was thankful that she had worn sensible shoes. She too jumped across to the boat and Boase followed. The music was louder and clearer now; there was some sort of jazz playing. Bartlett held his hand up to Boase to indicate that he must wait, then made his way around the deck. He tripped and an empty bottle rolled across the wooden planks. He listened; the music had stopped – someone must have heard him. He turned and Boase was right behind him.

  ʻYou all right, sir?ʼ

  ʻYes, but it looks like theyʼve heard us.ʼ

  Suddenly, a small hatch opened up in the deck a few yards away and a head peered through. Its owner pulled his body up and stood facing the three visitors. It was Frank Wilson.

  ʻWho are you, what do you want?ʼ

  Bartlett stepped forward.

  ʻI know youʼre Frank Wilson. Iʼm Inspector Bartlett, this is Constable Boase, and this young lady – well, you may recognise her.ʼ

  Gloria stepped forward and Frank Wilson gasped. In the half light he could clearly see Ivy Williams – but how …?

  ʻWeʼd really like to talk to you, Frank. Weʼve been looking for you for a long time. Donʼt try to run, weʼve got the place surrounded.ʼ

  ʻIʼm not going anywhere, but thereʼs no point standing up here in the dark. Come down below, we can talk there.ʼ

  Bartlett, Boase, and Gloria Hesketh followed Wilson through the hatch, down a short ladder and into a small room below. An oil lamp lit the scene. The smell was quite vile – a concoction of oil, stale food and general unpleasantness. The four of them sat down, each finding a place amongst an assortment of stool and barrels.

  ʻWhy are you hiding away down here, Frank?ʼ Bartlett thought that now, surely, he had to come clean.

  ʻBecause I knew you were after me – and I havenʼt done anything wrong.ʼ

  ʻWe suspect you have.ʼ

  ʻYou think I killed Ivy Williams and Rupert Hatton – well, I didnʼt.ʼ

  ʻWe know you didnʼt kill Rupert Hatton – we know that for a fact, but you were the last person to see Ivy Williams alive and we understand that you had a motive.ʼ

  ʻOh, and what would that be?ʼ

  ʻThe Hattons told us that they paid you to get rid of Ivy.ʼ

  ʻThey tried to, but I didnʼt do it. Anyway, Iʼm still waiting for you to tell me who this woman is – thereʼs an uncanny resemblance.ʼ

  Gloria spoke for the first time. ʻMy name is Gloria Hesketh; Iʼm Ivy Williamsʼs twin sister.ʼ

  ʻThat explains it then.ʼ Frank smiled at her. She smiled back, she thought he looked like a film star. Frank sighed. ʻI suppose youʼve got it in for me too?ʼ

  She didnʼt answer.

  ʻLook, Inspector Bartlett, I donʼt know how long I thought I could live like this, but there were a couple of things I had to see through before I could get away – and I was going away because I havenʼt done anything. I just donʼt know how I can prove it to you.ʼ

  ʻNeither do we,ʼ piped up Boase.

  The four looked up as suddenly footsteps could be heard up on the deck; the person was running. All at once the hatch was lifted and two feet appeared on the first rung of the ladder.

  ʻFrank, Frank. The police have been following me; youʼve got to ʼelp me Frank.ʼ

  Bartlett and Boase stood up to welcome the visitor.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The owner of the feet appeared in his entirety. It was Norman Richards. He was startled to see Bartlett and Boase. As Gloria stepped forward into the light cast by the single oil lamp, Norman looked horrifi
ed. He screamed and ran to the ladder as fast as he could. Boase lunged forward to grab his ankles but Norman was too agile. He scrambled his way to the top and out through the hatch. Boase ran after him. The two men were now on deck. Norman backed away.

  ʻWhatʼs she doing ʼere? That woman – where did she come from? Back from the dead?ʼ Gloria had now appeared through the hatch and she walked towards Norman. He was sobbing now.

  ʻKeep away or Iʼll kill you. Stand back, Iʼve got a gun.ʼ He pulled the weapon from his pocket and pointed it at her. Boase had crawled across the deck while all this was happening and was now standing behind Norman.

  ʻPut the gun down, Norman. Youʼre going to get yourself into a lot trouble otherwise. Bartlett was watching now from the hatch.

  ʻIʼll shoot, I will.ʼ

  As Boase suddenly lurched forward towards Norman, in an attempt to knock the gun from his hand, Norman stepped back, his foot getting caught in a rope which was laying across the deck. He tripped, dropped the gun, and fell over the side into the water. Boase looked into the sea; it was dark but he thought he could just about see Norman being taken on the tide. He wasnʼt moving or shouting. Boase dived in; the icy water made him gasp. He started to swim but he could hardly breathe, so cold was the water. He could hear Bartlett shouting to him from the boat.

  ʻBoase, heʼs just in front of you – youʼre almost there.ʼ

  Boase carried on swimming. He could see Normanʼs head now. One final stroke and he had him. He grabbed him and began to swim towards the boat. As he almost reached the rocks, a strong arm grabbed the boy from him; it was Frank Wilson. He pulled Norman up on to the rocks then gave Boase his hand. Frank, unaided, and with one motion, dragged Norman and Boase up onto the boat. Bartlett had never seen a man exhibit such strength. Boase was shivering. Gloria had found two old blankets below deck and she wrapped Boase in the first one then Norman in the second; Norman was unconscious.

  ʻHe must have hit his head on a rock,ʼ observed Bartlett to Frank. ʻYou must be frozen, Archie; here, take my coat.ʼ

  ʻNo, really, Iʼm all right but I think we should get Norman to hospital.ʼ

  Bartlett, Boase, Gloria Hesketh, and Frank Wilson, carrying the unconscious boy between them, made their way up the cliff path and back to the car. The car was, fortunately, large enough to accommodate all five of them and they shortly arrived at the Falmouth Hospital which was situated at the top of Killigrew Road. The hospital was open for emergencies even at this late hour and soon Norman Richards was in the capable hands of the doctor and nurses.

  Frank Wilson looked at Bartlett. ʻCan I go now – if thatʼs all right with you?ʼ

  ʻYes, itʼs all right, but donʼt you try running off – do you hear me? I need a lot of questions answering. Try running away and Iʼll catch up with you.ʼ

  Bartlett had a strange feeling that they might have been wrong about Frank Wilson. He looked at Boase who still seemed to be shivering.

  ʻYou should be out of those clothes. Come on, Iʼll just tell the matron weʼre leaving and Iʼll get you home. Iʼll come back and see the boy here tomorrow. You sure youʼre all right, Boase?ʼ

  ʻIʼm fine, sir, just incredibly cold.ʼ

  ʻTell you what, you come back to the house with me – you can stay the night. I know Caroline wonʼt mind.ʼ

  ʻThank you very much, sir.ʼ Boase was feeling so cold and unwell that he didnʼt really care where he went. The freezing sea had taken it out of him. Bartlett bundled his assistant into the car and they drove the short distance to Penmere Hill. They were soon in Bartlettʼs kitchen and the older man had brought some spare pyjamas from upstairs.

  ʻHere, put these on, Iʼll put your clothes on the range. You can sleep in the small room – but not before youʼve had a nip of something. You sort yourself out and Iʼll go into the parlour and get us a drop. Itʼs almost two oʼclock, weʼll be abed shortly.ʼ

  The two men sat and had a warming drink.

  ʻDo you think Wilsonʼll stick around, sir?ʼ

  ʻI know he will, Boase. Heʼs got a lot to tell us, I think. You were very brave tonight, my boy; Iʼm proud of you. Now come on, youʼre all in. Letʼs get some sleep.ʼ

  By the time Boase woke up in a strange bed, Caroline and Irene Bartlett had already cooked breakfast and as he came down the stairs a welcoming smell pervaded the house.

  Bartlett had been up earlier and brought the dry clothes into the bedroom. Boase entered the parlour.

  ʻGood morning, Archie – we didnʼt expect to see you here this morning,ʼ said Irene smiling and handing him a cup of tea. ʻDad told us what happened – youʼre so brave, jumping in the water like that. Bacon and eggs?ʼ

  ʻThat would be very nice, thank you, I am quite hungry actually.ʼ

  Bartlett and Boase tucked into two large breakfasts before leaving for the station. As the two men walked up Penmere Hill the rain began to fall steadily.

  ʻYou feeling better now, Boase? I thought weʼd be better off walking – youʼre still looking a bit pale, the fresh air will do you good.ʼ

  ʻYes thank you, sir. That breakfast helped.ʼ

  ʻGood. Now since weʼre going past the hospital, I donʼt think it would do any harm to look in on that young Norman – find out what was going on last night.ʼ

  They arrived at the hospital about ten minutes later and asked to see Norman. The matron said that they could spend five minutes with him, but no more as he had not long since regained consciousness. They went into a small room where he was lying in a bed. He looked up at them.

  ʻHello. Thanks for cominʼ to see me. I really must talk to you.ʼ

  Bartlett and Boase couldnʼt believe how ill the boy looked.

  ʻThereʼs something you should know; please listen, itʼs important. I killed Ivy Williams.ʼ

  Bartlett sat on the edge of Normanʼs bed.

  ʻNow, now, young man, you donʼt know what youʼre saying – you had a nasty bang on the head last night – wouldʼve drowned too, if it wasnʼt for this man here. You try and get some rest and Iʼll come and see you tomorrow.ʼ

  ʻNo, please donʼt go, please. I did kill ʼer. I didnʼt like ʼer. You ask Frank Wilson – ʼeʼs my friend anʼ I bin stayinʼ with ʼim for a long time. I tell ʼim evʼrything – always ʼave done. ʼEʼs bin looking after me since I was about six years old; there isnʼt nothinʼ ʼe donʼt know about me anʼ ʼe knows I done it. Youʼve got to believe me, I …’

  Norman Richardsʼs body suddenly went rigid, he clenched his fists and tried to breathe but he couldnʼt. Bartlett leapt to his feet.

  ʻNorman, Norman – Boase, quickly fetch the matron. Quick!ʼ

  The matron and a doctor came and ushered Bartlett and Boase out of the room. They were in there for quite some time. Presently they emerged. The doctor came over to Bartlett.

  ʻIʼm very sorry, sir. Thereʼs no more we can do to help him. It didnʼt look very good for him last night but we still held out some hope. Iʼm sorry.ʼ

  Bartlett sat down on a chair under a window. He felt warm suddenly. He pulled out his handkerchief and mopped his brow.

  ʻYou all right, sir? That was a bit of a shock wasnʼt it? Poor kid. Come on now, sir. You need some fresh air.

  Boase led the older man outside and into the garden. A fine rain was still falling and Bartlett began to feel refreshed. He hated to see anyone die – especially a young man.

  ʻIʼm sorry, Boase. A few memories came back to me then and things went round in my mind all at once. I just thought about my boy John for a minute.ʼ

  Boase never heard Bartlett speak about his son – this had really shocked him.

  ʻCome on, sir. Letʼs take a walk down the station and Iʼll make you a nice cup of tea. We canʼt do any more here now.ʼ

  The two walked down Killigrew Street to the police station. Bartlett sat down in his office. Boase brought him a strong, sweet cup of tea and the two men sat in silence. A knock at the door made them both jump. Constable Penhaligon came in carrying something in a bag.

  ʻSorry to
bother you both. A message that Frank Wilson is coming in to see you at eleven and, also, one of our men picked this up from the St Piran this morning.ʼ

  ʻThank you, Penhaligon, that will be all.ʼ

  Penhaligon handed the bag over to Bartlett and left the room.

  Bartlett put down his cup, opened the bag and, throwing it down on his desk in despair, looked across at Boase.

  ʻI feel like crying, Boase, I really do.ʼ

  Boase came across the room and picked up the bag.

  ʻOh, no!’

  Inside the bag was a small, toy gun, the sort one might find in a boyʼs Cowboys and Indians game.

  ʻHe died for nothing, sir. And itʼs all my fault.ʼ

  ʻNo itʼs not, Boase. How could you tell that it was a toy in the dark – and how could you know he would hit his head? Put it all out of your mind for now. Perhaps Frank Wilsonʼll have some answers for us.ʼ

  At five minutes to eleven, Frank Wilson was shown into the office of Bartlett and Boase. He sat down and lit a cigarette.

  ʻI suppose youʼve both heard about poor Norman? Iʼve just been to the hospital on my way here. Iʼm devastated, I can tell you.ʼ

  Bartlett nodded and listened.

  ʻYou were quite close I gather?ʼ

  ʻYes, he was like a kid brother to me.ʼ

  ʻCan you tell us everything you know? Going right back to the beginning?

  ʻYes, Iʼve known Norman Richards for about twelve years. He was a bit backward, due to something that went wrong with him and his mother when he was born. The odds were already stacked against him, as far as I knew – his mother was about fifty when he was born and the doctors had advised her not to have any more children, but, well, I suppose itʼs one of those things. It happened and Norman paid the price. Anyway, my parents knew his parents and when Norman was about six the family moved near where we were living. Norman used to follow me around all over the place and I used to give him sweets. He was such a kind kid.ʼ