Mr Godley's Phantom

by Mal Peet

  ‘A quarter of a million is a heck of a lot of looking after,’ Sheepstone said.

  ‘Yes. Harold also said that Heath reminded him of his late son. Julian. In what respect, he didn’t say.’

  Sheepstone fell silent. To Panter’s eye, he looked depressed.

  ‘May I ask the obvious question, sir?’

  ‘Yes, Ray, go ahead.’

  ‘Mr Browning, do you think Martin Heath might have known he stood to come into a fortune in the event of Mr Godley’s death?’

  Browning spread his hands. ‘Might Harold have told him? I’ve asked myself that, as you can imagine. Knowing Harold as I do, I’d think it highly unlikely. He was, is, a very private man. One might almost say secretive.’

  ‘He might have been looking for a spot of gratitude.’

  ‘I doubt it, Sergeant. Completely out of character.’

  Sheepstone had been studying the carpet. Now he looked up. ‘Did Mr Godley have a copy of the will in his possession, sir?’

  ‘Yes, he did, Inspector. And you would be able to tell at once if it had been interfered with. The envelope was fastened with a red wax seal embossed with this firm’s name. An old-fashioned touch that Harold insisted upon.’

  Browning consulted his pocket watch and returned it to his waistcoat.

  ‘Now then, gentlemen, I must leave you in ten minutes, so allow me to outline briefly the legal situation. As you quite properly observed, Inspector, Harold Godley is, technically, at this stage, missing, only presumed dead. The evidence, as you presented it to me, points to suicide but we have no proof positive of his death until the poor man’s body is discovered. Which, from what you say, it may not be. In such cases, the missing person’s will would not normally be executed for a period of seven years from the date of the disappearance. However, during that time the beneficiaries may apply to the court for the will to be enacted.’

  Browning paused for dramatic effect.

  ‘And I’m afraid that in this case they could well be successful.’

  ‘Why so?’

  ‘For three reasons. First, Harold was, in my considered opinion, of sound mind at the time when he instructed me. Second, given the weight of the circumstantial evidence and his continued disappearance, the court might very reasonably come to the conclusion that Harold did indeed end his own life. And third, there is no one, to the best of my knowledge, who might have grounds to contest the will.’

  ‘I see,’ Sheepstone said. ‘So quite soon our lucky and gallant Mr Heath could find himself very well off indeed.’

  ‘Yes, he could, Inspector. Unless …’ Browning left the word dangling.

  ‘Yes,’ Sheepstone said. ‘Unless.’

  Outside, on the buckled pavement, in light rain, Sheepstone put his hat on, stuffed his hands in his pockets and said, ‘Shit.’

  Panter could not tell if his superior was referring to the German razing of the city’s heart, the implications of the interview with Browning, or the solicitor himself. All three, possibly. He waited.

  Sheepstone said, ‘I could eat a dead horse between two mattresses. Is that half-decent place on Cathedral Green still standing, do you know?’

  ‘I think so, sir. Don’t know if they do horse, though.’

  ‘Never mind. Lead me there, Ray. I can’t think on an empty stomach.’

  3

  AT TWO O’CLOCK Martin drove Peg Maunder home in the van. She cried without the restraint she’d exercised in Annie’s presence when she’d heard the news.

  ‘Whyever would he do such a thing, Martin?’

  ‘I don’t know, Peg.’

  ‘He was unhappy, course he was. But I never thought.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Not a word nor sign, far as I could tell.’

  ‘No.’

  She dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve. ‘I can’t help thinkin about his poor wife. How she went the same way.’

  ‘What do you mean, Peg?’

  ‘Drownded herself.’

  ‘Did she?’

  ‘Yes. Not long afore I took up my position. Threw herself into the reservoy. They say she couldn get over the death of her boy. Julian.’

  ‘I didn’t know that,’ Martin said.

  Peg Maunder sobbed quietly for a while then said, ‘I don’ know what’s to become of us, Martin.’

  ‘Nor do I. All we can do is carry on as normal and see what happens. It might be all right.’

  ‘I don’ even know if I should carry on comin up to the house.’

  He said, ‘I suppose that’s up to you, Peg. I love your cooking, you know I do, but …’

  ‘But the straight up and down of it is, without Mr Godley I haven’ got a paid job no more.’

  He brought the Morris to a halt at her cottage door. ‘That’s true,’ he said.

  ‘Bogger,’ Peg said passionately.

  Martin said, ‘Listen. Why don’t you take a day or two to think about it? I know Lily needs you. Annie and I can manage.’

  She gripped his wrist. ‘Two old maids, Martin, with nuthin comin in. We’d have to go on the parish. An I couldn’ bear it. She’s my sister but she drives me up the wall. Comin up to the house an’ doin for Mr Godley’s what’s kep me sane as well as fed. I don’ know what to do.’

  ‘Peg.’

  ‘T’aint your fault, Martin, bless you. You’re in the same pickle as me. I shouldn go on about myself.’

  He untied the cord that held the van’s back doors closed and lugged out her heavy bicycle. The rain was coming down harder now. Peg stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek.

  Crossing the courtyard, Martin hesitated at the door to the stable block. It was possible, now that all things were possible, that Not-Dead Godley had thoughts about his cook’s predicament. But no. He didn’t want to talk to Godley. Not now.

  Annie was waiting for him in the kitchen, leaning on the rail of the range, warming herself.

  ‘Let’s go to bed,’ she said.

  Her shocking directness thrilled him, as it had from the beginning.

  But he shook his head. ‘No, we mustn’t.’

  ‘Why not? We can do it whenever we like now.’ She came to him, pressed herself against him. ‘Come on. I really want to.’

  ‘So do I.’

  ‘I know.’ She ran her hand down him. ‘It’s obvious. Let’s go upstairs.’

  ‘Annie. We can’t. The police might turn up.’

  ‘So what? Fucking’s not against the law, as far as I know.’

  ‘Annie.’

  She relented a little. ‘Do you think they’ll come today?’

  ‘They might.’

  She sighed tragi-comically then backed herself against the table, pulling him with her. ‘All right, then. I’ll settle for a quickie. Here. On the table.’

  ‘Jesus, Annie.’

  She hurried at his buttons. Took him in hand. Smiled up at him. ‘What a brazen hussy you’ve made of me, Mr Heath.’

  4

  SERGEANT BULLER SHOWED Martin into the interview room.

  ‘If you’d sit there, sir? That’s it. Now, Inspector Sheepstone will be joining us in a few minutes, so can I get you a cup of tea while we’re waiting?’

  ‘Um, yes. Thanks.’

  The room was utterly inhospitable. The edge of the table was chipped. Martin ran his fingers along it then held them out and steadied them.

  Buller returned with a clipboard under an arm and tea in a cup with a saucer, which he set down on the table. He sat opposite Martin and took two freshly sharpened pencils from the breast pocket of his tunic. He checked his watch then busied himself writing along the dotted lines at the head of the statement form.

  ‘Your middle name, Mr Heath?’

  ‘John.’

  ‘Date of birth?’

  ‘October the twelfth, 1920.’

  The door opened and Sheepstone and another man came in.

  ‘Ah, Mr Heath. Thank you for coming.’ He shook Martin’s hand. ‘This is Chief Inspector Reeve of the City of Exet
er Police.’

  ‘How do you do, Mr Heath.’ Reeve was a slightly-built man with thinning hair Brylcreemed to his skull. There was something resentful about his bearing, as if he already found the occasion tedious. He too shook Martin’s hand, then retreated to the corner near the door. He smothered a yawn before folding his arms and leaning against the wall.

  Sheepstone sat on a chair a few feet from the table.

  He said, ‘As Sergeant Buller has no doubt explained, we need a formal statement from you for our files. Just the facts relating to the day of Mr Godley’s disappearance. We’d be very grateful if you could recall any details in addition to what you have already told us. Sergeant Buller will write down what you say, then ask you to read it through. If you are satisfied that it’s accurate, sign it and then we’re done. Is that all right?’

  ‘Yes,’ Martin said. He lowered his cup onto the saucer using both hands.

  ‘Good,’ Sheepstone said, leaning back and crossing his legs. ‘Over to you, then, Sergeant.’

  In the kitchen of Burra Hall, Annie was fully aware of DS Panter’s gaze on her as she made a pot of tea. It was as real as fingers. She put the pot on the table next to the milk jug and the sugar bowl and the little dish for the tea strainer. Keeping up standards. Not letting things slide.

  Panter said, ‘What d’you think you’ll do, Annie?’

  ‘How d’you mean?’

  ‘You know. I mean, with Mr Godley dead.’

  ‘You don’ know that,’ she said fiercely. ‘He might not be. He might turn up.’

  ‘True. But I don’t think it’s likely, do you?’

  She turned her face heroically into the light from the window. ‘I’ll stay here till I’m turned out. Someone’ve got to keep the place up. It’d be a sin to let it go to wreck and ruin.’

  ‘Yes, it would. I was thinking more about you yourself. How you’d live. It’s none of my business, but—’

  ‘I’ve got a bit put away. It’s not like there’s much to spend your wages on, is there?’ She poured the tea. ‘D’you take sugar?’

  ‘Yes. Thanks.’ Panter took a packet of Senior Service from his pocket. ‘Smoke?’

  ‘We’re not allowed, normally. But yeah. Just this once. Thanks.’ She leaned into his flame.

  He said, ‘What about Martin?’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘Well, he’s out of a job too, isn’t he? Has he said anything about what he’s going to do?’

  ‘No,’ Annie said contemptuously. ‘Since Mr Godley went missin, all he does is mess about with that fuckin car.’

  Panter blinked at the obscenity. He lowered his cup. ‘What do you think of him, Annie?’

  ‘What, Martin? He’s all right, I s’pose. A bit stuck up. A bit on the posh side. Keeps himself to himself, mostly. He has trouble with his nerves because of the war and that.’

  ‘Yes, you told me that before.’

  ‘Did I?’

  ‘So he talked to you about the war, did he?’

  Annie blew smoke. ‘No.’

  ‘But you knew he’d had a rough time.’

  ‘Only cause Mr Godley told me so. Soon after he come here, Mr Godley says to me, Annie, be nice to Mister Heath. He’ve been through the mill.’

  ‘And are you nice to him, Annie? Do you get along?’

  She tapped ash into the dish of tea leaves. ‘Not in the way you’re thinking,’ she said.

  Sergeant Buller’s handwriting was surprisingly elegant. His spelling was faultless, his punctuation less so.

  Sheepstone said, ‘Anything you want to change or add, Martin?’

  Martin looked up from the paper. ‘No. That’s it, I think.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ Buller said. ‘If you would sign your name just here?’

  Martin did so and looked up. Sheepstone remained in his seat, legs crossed. Reeve, in the corner, was examining his fingernails. Buller leaned back and crossed his arms, smiling pleasantly.

  Sheepstone said, ‘There’s one tiny detail bothering me, Martin. An eyewitness who saw Mr Godley in Exmouth at approximately four fifteen on the day he disappeared states that he was carrying a bag of some sort. But on neither of the occasions we’ve spoken to you have you mentioned it.’

  ‘No, I … Yes, he had his briefcase with him. I forgot. I’m sorry. Is it important?’

  ‘I don’t know. It might be. Can you describe it to me?’

  ‘Um, old, black. Just a briefcase.’

  ‘Any idea what might have been in it?’

  ‘No. Papers, I suppose. He was going to see his solicitor.’

  ‘Yes, of course. It’s a bit odd, though, that it hasn’t been found, don’t you think? It wasn’t with his other belongings on the beach. And it hasn’t been located in the Lost Property office at St David’s, which is where it would end up if he’d left it on a train.’

  Martin said, ‘I don’t know what you want me to say. I can’t explain it. I’m sorry I forgot to mention it. Do you want me to change my statement?’

  ‘Oh no,’ Sheepstone said. ‘No need for that. Like I said, just a detail.’

  ‘So can I go now?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Sergeant Buller will drive you back whenever you like. But before you go, Martin, I wonder if you’d mind helping us to get a better picture of Mr Godley. His state of mind and so forth.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, you spent time with him.’

  ‘Not a lot, actually. Mostly when I was driving him.’

  ‘And you talked at such times?’

  ‘Yes. When he felt like it.’

  ‘Of course. What did you talk about?’

  ‘Um … this and that. The car, things that needed doing round the house. The weather. That sort of thing.’

  ‘Nothing more, shall we say, personal? Revealing? About himself?’

  Martin shook his head. ‘No. He wasn’t like that.’ He hesitated. ‘He talked about his son once or twice. Julian. He was killed in 1918.’

  ‘Yes,’ Sheepstone said. ‘Was this recently that Mr Godley spoke about him?’

  ‘Fairly recently, yes.’

  ‘Hmm. Do you think it might have been preying on his mind?’

  ‘I honestly couldn’t say. Perhaps.’

  Sheepstone nodded, looking down at the scuffed brown linoleum.

  Martin cleared his throat and said, ‘Inspector, I …’

  Sheepstone looked up. ‘And did you talk to Mr Godley about your war, Martin?’

  ‘I … I might have.’

  ‘I have to confess that until a couple of days ago we had no idea that you had such a distinguished military record. We were very impressed, weren’t we, Archie?’

  Buller’s face was all genial approbation. ‘We were, sir. Very.’

  Martin’s hands started to go. He clasped them together on the table and stared at them.

  Sheepstone, concerned, said, ‘I’m sorry, Martin. Is this something you prefer not to talk about?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I can understand that. But you talked about it to Mr Godley.’

  ‘He’s my employer. He asked me.’

  ‘Of course. Is that why you took the job down here, by the way? To get away from it all? A bit of peace and quiet? Or peace of mind?’

  ‘Something like that, yes.’

  ‘And has it worked, would you say?’

  Martin made himself look up. All three policemen were watching him keenly now.

  ‘Yes. I’m fine. Thank you.’

  Reeve, his silence, worried him. He caught the man’s eye. Reeve pursed his lips into a sort of smile and nodded slightly. As if to say, I know what you’ve been through. You’re doing all right.

  5

  DS PANTER FINISHED his second cup of tea and said, ‘One of the problems we have is that we don’t know much about Mr Godley. I mean, apart from Martin’s description we don’t even know what he looks like. Are you sure there aren’t any photographs?’

  ‘Not that I know of.’
>
  ‘That’s a bit strange, don’t you think?’

  Annie shrugged. ‘Not really. I haven’t had my picture took since I was at school. Have you?’

  ‘Um. Well, yes. Wedding photographs, and so on.’

  ‘Oh,’ Annie said, sounding ever so slightly disappointed. ‘You’re married, are you?’

  ‘Yes. Expecting our first child in September, as a matter of fact.’

  ‘Congratulations.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He blinked away an image of her backed against the table, her skirt hoisted over her hips. He said, ‘So tell me about him, Annie. Mr Godley. What was he like?’

  ‘What, to work for?’

  ‘Yeah. And in general.’

  ‘Well, he was kind, in a quiet sort of a way. He treated me nice, never no trouble. Except when he got taken bad. That used to put the wind up me, what with us being so far from help.’

  ‘He was an invalid?’

  ‘Oh no. Just old and poorly. And sad.’

  ‘Depressed, do you mean?’

  She shrugged again. ‘Maybe. I dunno what that means, really. Just a very sad old gentleman.’

  ‘Can’t have been much fun,’ Panter suggested. ‘For you, I mean.’

  ‘You just get on with it, don’t you? Anyhow, he was cheerful enough when he talked to you. It’s just when you caught him unawares, as you might say, he looked like … No. I mustn’t say that.’

  ‘Go on, Annie. Please. I need all the help I can get here. He looked like …?’

  It seemed that she might cry. ‘God forgive me,’ she said, ‘I was goin to say he looked like someone waitin to die.’

  Sheepstone glanced at his watch.

  ‘One last question, Martin. It’s a bit of a strange one, but did you like Mr Godley?’

  ‘Um … he was a very decent employer. Is.’

  ‘I’m sure he was. But that’s not quite what I asked you. I was wondering what your personal feelings towards him were.’

  ‘Well … I liked him, yes.’ He looked at his clasped hands again. ‘I’m sorry. That’s not really true. I just felt very sorry for him. And he worried me.’