by Granger, Ann
‘Oh, it’s you,’ he said with relief. ‘I thought it was Bridget, come to boss me about and stop me enjoying my one consolation in life.’
‘Mind if I sit down?’ Jess asked.
‘Please yourself,’ said Monty. He shuffled along the painted metal seat and indicated the space created beside him.
‘How are you?’ Jess asked, when she’d sat down. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Bloody awful. But not because of that dratted stiff in my house. Look at me!’
‘Very smart,’ said Jess, taking note of all the new clothes.
Monty uttered a ferocious growl. ‘Smart? Why on earth should I want to be smart? I’m not going to a wedding or a funeral. I’m sitting in a garden. It’s not my own, but it is still a garden . . .’ He paused and surveyed the view. ‘Of sorts,’ he added.
He sipped his whisky and his manner mellowed. ‘Have you taken him away?’
‘The deceased? Yes, he’s gone.’
‘So I can go back?’
‘Well,’ Jess hesitated. ‘We’re still looking round the grounds. You have a lot of land there and it’s all – um – rather overgrown. Searching through it isn’t easy.’
Unexpectedly Monty chuckled. ‘Grounds? What do you think you’re going to find there? Of course it’s overgrown. I can’t do any gardening. Know yet who he is?’
‘No, not yet. We’ll get there.’
‘What did he die of?’
Monty was gazing studiously ahead, avoiding eye contact; but the question had been crisply put. He does want to talk about it, thought Jess with some relief. He doesn’t want to appear curious, but naturally he’s eager to find out all he can.
‘I hope we’ll know that soon, too. A post-mortem examination is being carried out.’
‘Seems to me it’s going to be a slow business,’ observed Monty. ‘I can’t stay here indefinitely, you know. Bridget’s going to America, getting married.’
‘So she has just explained to me.’
‘And young whatsit, Tansy, is going off to some university or other. Bridget’s not selling up. She’s keeping on the house for when she and the new man come over to the UK . . . a little place in the Cotswolds!’ Monty snorted. ‘But it will be all locked up. I suppose Tansy might come down and use it from time to time. But I can’t stay here on my tod. Bridget wouldn’t let me, anyhow, in case I wrecked the place with my dissolute lifestyle!’ He snorted again.
It’s not for me to mention sheltered accommodation, thought Jess. I’d like to be a fly on the wall when Bridget does suggest it to him. But the sad fact is, she’s right. He can’t go back to Balaclava. He’s getting older, less steady on his feet, less able to take care of his day-to-day needs. Then there’s all the drink he puts away. It has to have affected his health. His liver must keep going on borrowed time. Monty himself is on borrowed time. The thought made her very sad.
‘Mr Bickerstaffe,’ she said. ‘You told me that the dead man looked, to you, as if he might be a racing man. “The sort of fellow who hangs around racecourses”, you said.’
‘Did I?’ Monty frowned. ‘I suppose I must have done, if you say so. Yes, he did look that sort. Well, more or less. I didn’t spend that much time looking at the fellow, not after I realised he’d snuffed it.’
‘There was nothing else about him that put that idea in your head?’
‘No,’ said Monty. ‘Didn’t he have a driving licence or something on him?’
‘He had nothing on him at all to identify him. No keys, house or car, no credit cards, nothing at all.’
Monty twisted slowly on the seat so that now he faced her. ‘Rum, that, isn’t it?’
‘Very rum. We think someone, whoever brought him to your house and left him there, cleaned out his pockets.’
‘Ah . . .’ said Monty, watching her face closely.
Now that she had his full attention, Jess tackled the awkward subject of the bedroom that had been in some sort of use.
‘Monty, we think that you may have had a visitor you were unaware of, apart from the dead man, I mean. We looked round upstairs. We checked all the bedrooms. One of them showed signs of a recent presence. It was tidied and dusted. The air was fresher, as if a window had been opened in there. You say you never went upstairs?’
‘Not for years,’ Monty said slowly. ‘Well, I’ll be jiggered. Who would want to use a room in Balaclava?’
‘We don’t know. Nor do we know if it’s connected with the dead man. But someone has been spending some time up there and, we think, on a fairly regular basis. A tramp or a druggie would have left rubbish, used needles, beer cans, some kind of debris. This person came and went, not making any mess. Also, before we – Sergeant Morton and I – entered, surfaces appeared to have been carefully wiped of fingerprints. Someone went to great lengths to hide his tracks. That leads us to suspect whoever it was could – just possibly – be the same person who brought the dead man to Balaclava.’
Monty shook his head. ‘Don’t make sense, m’dear. If my unknown visitor didn’t want you, or me, to know he’d been using one of the rooms upstairs, why dump a dead man downstairs for me to find? The police were bound to come. They would search round, as you did. No, no, you’re on the wrong track, I’m sure of it. But good luck, anyway,’ Monty concluded.
‘Thank you, Monty,’ Jess said with a wry grin. The point he’d made was a valid one. The drink hadn’t addled his brain. His next question proved it.
He turned his head to look closely at her again. ‘Think it’s a murder, then, do you?’
‘Yes, Monty, since you ask me. We don’t know yet how he died, of course, so it’s not yet official. It’s still an unexplained death. But it’s shaping up that way.’
‘That’ll rattle Bridget’s cage,’ said Monty with satisfaction.
It wouldn’t suit Jess if Monty upset Mrs Harwell so much that she refused to continue to have him under her roof, and turned him out before the investigation was concluded.
‘I understand that family members don’t always get along,’ Jess began tactfully, ‘but don’t you think you’re being a little hard on Mrs Harwell? She has made you comfortable here—’
‘Comfortable!’ squawked Monty, tugging at the sleeve of his new pullover. ‘You call this comfortable?’
‘She has obviously tried,’ persevered Jess desperately.
‘She’s been trying . . . I grant you that,’ was the reply, ‘but that’s not the same thing!’ He chuckled at his own joke.
‘It’s a difficult situation for everyone,’ Jess reminded him. ‘I met Tansy earlier.’
Monty’s merriment died away. He nodded. ‘Yes, it’s got to her. Well, death, the first time you meet it, does come as a shock. When you’re her age you think you’re going to live for ever. She’s a nice kid. I hope she has a happy life. I wish I could do something for her, but I was never any good at making money. I haven’t a bean to leave her. It’s too late for me to have regrets now. Doesn’t mean I don’t have any, though.’
On that cryptic note, Monty sighed and gave a little nod of dismissal. The conversation was over.
Jess left him on the garden seat, his hands folded over his new pullover, staring meditatively into space. He didn’t appear to be studying the garden. She wondered what he did see. Increasingly, the impression she was getting of Monty was that he had ceased to find the present relevant and spent much of his time in the past. Perhaps that was why the whole business of the discovery of the dead man in his own drawing room appeared to have made so little impact on him. It was as if he’d brushed it off. It didn’t matter to him because other things, in his memory, mattered much more.
She rounded the corner of the house, her footsteps silent on the grass, and was startled to hear the sound of voices raised in anger. The window was open; in the room beyond Bridget and her daughter were in full flow of a mother-and-daughter spat. Jess’s natural instinct was to move out of earshot. But that impulse only lasted a moment and then her detective instincts kicked
in and she stayed to listen.
‘I really don’t know why you’re so set against going to college in the States. Max and I would be delighted . . .’
‘Nice of you to say so,’ snapped Tansy. ‘Max doesn’t want me hanging round.’
‘Rubbish. I realise you don’t like Max, for some unaccountable reason!’ was Bridget’s brittle response.
‘Whether I like him or not is neither here nor there. He won’t be around long enough for it to make any difference, will he?’
‘And just what does that mean, young lady?’ Bridget’s repressed anger burst through her controlled façade.
‘You know damn well!’
‘Don’t swear at me! I’m your mother!’
‘Well, Mother, none of your previous marriages have lasted long, have they?’ Tansy, too, had been repressing her feelings. A fountain of bitterness welled up with the accusation.
‘Things don’t always work out in life, Tansy.’ For the first time, Bridget was defensive.
‘Don’t I know it!’ yelled Tansy.
There was the sound of a door slamming.
Jess hurried away before she was caught eavesdropping. She reached the front gate just in time. The front door opened and Tansy erupted from the house, pulling on a long knitted jacket of vaguely Andean pattern and jangling car keys.
‘Hallo, haven’t you gone yet?’ she asked when she saw Jess.
Jess indicated the car keys. ‘If you’re getting behind the wheel, Tansy, I suggest you calm down first.’
‘Certainly, Officer!’ said Tansy sarcastically. She pushed the car keys into her pocket and came up to Jess. ‘It’s good you’re still here. I want to talk to you.’
‘OK, we can walk a little way down the lane, if you want.’
They set off together, Tansy with her hands thrust into the pockets of the knitted garment and striding out, jaw set.
‘You must think we’re a bloody weird family!’
‘I don’t know a lot about your family . . .’ began Jess.
‘You’ve seen enough. We are a weird family. Are your parents alive? Are they still married?’
‘Yes, to both those questions,’ Jess told her.
Tansy stopped abruptly and turned to face her. ‘How do you find someone who wants to spend a whole lifetime with you, just because he loves you? Someone who isn’t just passing through, like this guy my mother’s set on marrying at the moment, or doesn’t turn out to be a total deadbeat like the last one she was hitched to?’
‘I don’t know,’ Jess confessed. ‘I’m not into giving advice about love, life, the universe and all that. I haven’t taken the plunge myself yet. I’m a police officer. It’s surprising how many police officers marry another officer. You have to marry the job, you see. It’s very difficult.’
‘You wouldn’t perhaps find a different job, if you got married?’ Tansy was watching her face carefully.
‘No, of course not, it’s my career.’
‘My mother seems to think I ought to have “met somebody” by now.’ Tansy’s voice was unexpectedly sad. ‘You know, somebody wealthy and the right sort. That’s more important to her than a career. I don’t know what she’d do if I said I was going to join the police. She’d have hysterics, probably. No offence. My mother lives in a very narrow world.’
‘I expect she worries about your future,’ Jess told her. ‘Have you got your mind set on anything particular you’d like to do?’
‘No,’ said Tansy. ‘I’ve never felt the urge to be a doctor or a teacher ora – a pop star or any damn thing. Most people do have some idea what they want to do by my age. I bet you did. How old were you when you decided to be a cop?’
‘I was in my last year at school,’ Jess confessed. ‘The head teacher cornered me one morning as I was scooting along the corridor, late for a class as usual. “Are you always going to be late for everything you do?” he asked.’
‘He’d no right to say that!’ Tansy was indignant on Jess’s behalf.
Jess smiled an acknowledgment but said, ‘It was a good question and he followed it up with a better one. “What are you planning to do when you leave here?”’
‘Aha! A trap!’ said Tansy.
‘Yes. I hadn’t really fixed on anything. I think he knew that or suspected it. But I was determined to give him a firm answer, just to make it clear I’d given thought to my future. I picked the toughest thing I could think of and told him, “I’m going to join the police force!” It did take the wind out of his sails a bit. After that, he didn’t let me forget it and he told other staff members. So eventually I got used to saying I was going to apply to join the police. They began to ask me, why? So I started to read it up and find out more about it. That’s when I got really interested. I thought, yes, it is what I want to do. So, here I am. I’ve never regretted my choice. It is a tough job but it’s a worthwhile one. I don’t see myself doing any other. I’m satisfied I’m in the right one.’
‘At least you had the wits to think of something when he asked you. I couldn’t pick a career if you held a gun to my head.’ Tansy hunched her shoulders despondently inside the knitted jacket.
Jess smiled. ‘What are you hoping to study at university?’
‘Oh, media studies, but without any long-term aim. I told you, I’ve never had an aim in life, not one more than six months ahead. I’m not that interested in going to university, to be honest. But I’ve got to do something, so I thought I might as well do that.’
Jess heard herself say something she immediately regretted. ‘You’re pretty well off, I suppose. No financial worries?’
She had not meant this to sound either sarcastic or ill mannered but somehow it did.
Tansy replied robustly. ‘None. Yes, I’m what you call “well off ”. I’ve got a wealthy father. He’s very generous. He’s also the only decent man my mother ever married and she couldn’t keep hold of him! My mother is a loser, you know. That’s her problem. But if you think that money makes life easier, then let me tell you, it bloody well doesn’t.’
They had reached the end of the lane where it joined a bigger road and by mutual consent turned back towards the house.
‘When you said you wanted to talk to me,’ Jess began, ‘I hoped it was about this case. I’m not much use as a careers adviser or life coach, I’m afraid.’
‘I didn’t mean to bend your ear about my troubles,’ Tansy said. ‘What the hell do you care, anyway? But I do want to talk to you about the case, or rather, about Uncle Monty. You’re not going to badger him, are you? I don’t often agree with my mother, but I do agree about this. He’s old and he’s pretty well pickled in booze.’ Tansy stopped and turned to face Jess. ‘Look, he really doesn’t know anything about that body.’ She leaned forward earnestly.
‘The dead man came from somewhere, Tansy, and he wasn’t alone when he got to Balaclava House,’ Jess told her gently. ‘Someone, at least one person, had to be there to help him inside.’
‘Then it was someone driving through. Toby’s Gutter Lane is hardly used but it joins a main road, which is really busy. It means Balaclava House isn’t even as off the beaten track as The Old Lodge is here.’ Tansy pointed down the road towards her home. ‘Even Uncle Monty with his dodgy knees can manage to walk into town from Balaclava. He does it almost every day except Sunday.’
‘We are bearing all that in mind,’ Jess told her. ‘In fact, it seems other people did know about Balaclava House. Someone has been using one of the bedrooms.’
She intended the question to come as a shock and it did.
‘What? ’ Tansy stared at her in disbelief. ‘That’s rubbish. Upstairs at Balaclava is a ruin.’
‘Nevertheless, there are clear signs that someone has been using one of the bedrooms on a fairly regular basis, unknown to your uncle.’
‘Someone has been hanging round Balaclava?’ Tansy put up both hands and pushed back her untidy long hair from her face. ‘But that’s – that’s awful.’ An expression of panic crossed her f
ace. ‘While Uncle Monty was there?’
‘More likely when he wasn’t at home. He has a habit, you know, of leaving the place unlocked.’
‘Then someone could have been in the house . . .’ Tansy’s voice trailed away in horror. She went on, ‘Could have been there when poor Uncle Monty was downstairs, absolutely at their mercy, whoever it was. They might have murdered him. Mum or I could have called to see him and found him lying on that sofa.’
She stared down at the ground, apparently collecting her thoughts. ‘Mum says he ought to be in sheltered accommodation,’ she said, looking up suddenly. ‘I’ve always thought it would kill him. But perhaps she’s right – if he’s not safe at Balaclava. What did he say when you told him? I wish you’d told Mum or me first. Then we could have broken it to him.’