by G. M. Dobbs
‘And who was it that said we had lesser crested frogs in the pond in the first place?’ Maud asked.
‘Mansall,’ Granny said and sat herself down. She took her pipe from the pocket of the body-warmer she always wore and thumbed tobacco into the bowl. ‘He started the bloody protest, brought it to the attention of the Gilfach Ladies’ Society and that got the ball rolling.’
‘It’s a pity,’ Maud said. ‘The meadow will be chewed up now. It’ll be a shame to see it go.’
Granny nodded, lit her pipe and sucked in a mouthful of creamy smoke. Until a couple of decades ago Graig Meadow had been nothing but slag heaps left behind after the closure of the Cambrian Colliery. Eventually nature reclaimed the land, but it was hardly green belt, and was often used for fly tipping so it could hardly be considered an area of natural beauty.
‘I suppose I’d better let the others know,’ Granny said, speaking from behind a thick cloud of smoke.
‘We’re all going to look like idiots,’ Maud pointed out.
‘Nothing new there.’
Granny was disappointed though. She had enjoyed being a part of the action group and had gotten a great deal of satisfaction from the knowledge that she was helping to protect an endangered species.
Of course as it turned out that was not exactly the case.
Still, Granny thought, look on the bright side. There will be other environmental issue to fight and Tudor Lewis could have a point. The development of the land may very well bring some much-needed employment to the area, not to mention leisure facilities. The new cinema would be nice, as would the restaurants and supermarket that Tudor Lewis had planned.
Maud looked at her watch.
‘I’d better be going,’ she said. ‘Didn’t realise it was so late.’
Granny nodded and then saw her friend out, locking the door once she had gone. The old woman yawned and went back through to the living room. She looked at her sleeping husband and smiled tenderly. He looked so innocent when sleeping, and even if he was a useless hulk who more often than not got under her feet, then at least he was her useless hulk.
‘Just as well get this done,’ Granny said and took her mobile phone from her pocket. She sat down and started to slowly compose a group text message, which she would send to all members of the action group, informing them of Dr Purser’s findings. Once that was done she would wake Arthur and then they could both go to bed.
The following morning Granny was out early, feeling like a morning walk, some brisk morning air, would help to put her thoughts in perspective. Now that they knew it wasn’t a rare species of frog using the meadow, she hoped it wouldn’t mean that the action group would fall apart. There were other local issues they could tackle and Granny vowed to come up with a few so she could discuss them with the others come the next meeting.
She lit her pipe and clasped her hands behind her back as she walked along the meadow. She began to feel much more positive about the news Dr Purser had given them. So what if it had turned out that there were no particularly rare frogs using the pond? It didn’t really matter and at least they had established that an endangered species would not be losing yet another precious habitat. All in all, she supposed, it meant that the protest had been a resounding success.
The action group had been a resounding success.
Granny heard the familiar riff from Smoke on the Water coming from her pocket and she pulled out her mobile. The caller display identified Mansall.
‘Good morning,’ Granny chirped into the phone.
‘Granny,’ Mansall said. ‘I only just saw your text message. They weren’t the right frogs, then?’
‘That’s the way it looks,’ Granny said. ‘Never mind, though. At least we know for certain and the more I think about it the more I’m starting to realise that the Tudor development could actually be good for the area.’
‘Come again?’
‘Well,’ Granny said. ‘I know Tudor Lewis isn’t the most popular of men but he’s successful and that rubs some people up the wrong way. If this supermarket, hotel and leisure complex of his brings in employment to the area then that can only be a good thing. Oh, I know some people won’t be happy but then some people would like to see us back in the dark ages.’
Mansall grunted on the other end of the phone.
‘I could have sworn the frogs I saw there were lesser-crested,’ he said.
‘Easy mistake to make.’ Granny said. She had looked up the frogs on Google Images before leaving the house this morning and apart from the faint green speckles on its underside they looked remarkably similar to the common frog.
‘Suppose so,’ Mansall said, sounding disappointed.
‘I’m taking a walk up to the meadow now,’ Granny said. ‘Thought I’d take those protest posters down. Tudor Lewis is going to love it that we misidentified the frog species so I don’t think we should leave our posters pinned all over the place. Best let this whole issue die.’
‘You want me to pick you up later?’ Mansall asked. ‘We can round the others up and figure out what happens next.’
‘Yes,’ Granny said. ‘That would be good.’
‘See you about twelve then,’ Mansall said.
Granny looked at her watch. It was just after nine thirty, which gave her plenty of time to visit the pond and then take a leisurely walk back to the house, perhaps get some breakfast in Mort’s café before going home. The walk had given her both an appetite and an idea and when the action group met again she planned to suggest they get an ordinance survey map and check out that all the public rights of way are open to the public and that there are no obstructions, either man made or created by nature running rampant. That seemed an important issue that was worthy of their efforts.
‘See you at twelve,’ Granny said and placed the mobile back into the pocket of her body warmer.
Nine
Granny had taken down two of the posters and was approaching the pond when she was stopped in her tracks.
‘Oh my God,’ Granny said, not really believing what she was seeing. Not wanting to believe.
Carol was laying there, face down in the pond, dead.
Granny knew it was Carol, couldn’t see her face but she instinctively knew it was Carol.
She was floating face down in the water and appeared as lifeless as the stick that floated next to her, bobbing gently against the side of her head.
Granny stood there rigid for a few moments, her shocked mind trying to process the full meaning of the sight before her.
‘Carol,’ Granny said.
She knew it was Carol - there was no doubt of that. Granny also knew that the woman was already dead but nevertheless she ran into the pond, ignoring the cold as the water seeped through her shoes and lapped at her knees. She reached the body, bent and gently turned Carol over. The old woman had to fight the urge to turn and run as she saw Carol’s lifeless eyes lock onto her own.
Granny pulled her mobile from her pocket and tapped out the emergency number, asking the operator to be put through to the police. While she waited to be connected Granny looked down at Carol. It looked as though she had been dead for several hours; her skin had a greyness to it, with tiny blood vessels being visible beneath the skin. Most ghastly were her lips, which had turned a crusty blue.
‘There’s been a murder,’ Granny told the police officer who came onto the line, for she had no doubt that this was indeed a murder and not some kind of bizarre accident. ‘I’ve found the body. Put me through to Chief Inspector Miskin.’
Almost a year ago Granny had been involved in a murder investigation, had solved the case and had met Chief Inspector Miskin while carrying out her own amateur investigation into the crime.
The police officer on the other end of the line sounded confused.
‘And you are?’ he asked
‘Mary Smith,’ she said, her sharp eyes taking in every detail of what she considered to be a murder scene. ‘Miskin will know me as Granny.’
A moment l
ater the familiar bad tempered voice of the chief inspector came onto the line.
‘Mrs Smith,’ he said. ‘Now what’s this about a murder?’
Granny told him everything, how she had found the body, her location and even the identity of the body. Once that was done she was told to wait there and then the phone line went dead.
Granny knew she had to act fast before the police arrived and she selected the camera option on her mobile and started snapping off photographs of the body, of the surroundings. She knew from past experience that the police would share very little information with her and would try and bulldoze her off the case. So she needed the photographs to help in her own investigations, and she was most certainly going to try and find out who had done for Carol. She’d get her granddaughter Suzy to transfer the photographs to the laptop and hopefully she would be able to pick out some detail that she may be missing at the moment.
Granny turned and waded out of the water to examine the soft ground around the banking for footprints. The old woman was experiencing mixed emotions. The shock of finding Carol had yet to sink in and although she felt a deep grief and anger at the murder, she was also gleefully excited at the prospect of investigating another murder. Life had been pretty tame since she’d brought Nigel Charlton and that scheming daughter of his to justice last year.
‘Well well,’ Chief Inspector Miskin said. ‘If it isn’t Miss Marple on steroids.’
Granny gave the policeman a wry smile.
‘The murdered woman was a friend of mine,’ she said. ‘Her name’s Carol Hamish and I’ve already told all this to one of the constables. Follow me. I want to show you something interesting.’
She’s totally batty, the chief inspector thought but shrugged his shoulders and followed her all the same. He noticed that her leggings were soaking below the knees and her shoes made squishing sounds as she walked. He supposed he’d just as well humour her for the moment but if she started interfering in the police investigation, as she had with the Charlton case last year, then he’d have her banged up. Old woman or not he’d lock her up and throw away the key.
‘There,’ Granny said pointing to the fence that ran along the banking behind the pond. Beyond the fence were a featureless field that led away towards the mountain.
‘What am I looking at?’ the chief inspector asked. Around them an army of police officers went about the tasks involved in securing a possible crime scene.
The fence,’ Granny said with a sigh. ‘See where it’s bent over slightly. I think someone climbed over it. Our killer possibly. I think he maybe came out of those fields there.’
That was it. The chief inspector felt himself losing patience with the old woman. Who did she think she was? Some kind of modern day Sherlock Holmes? He had come up against her sort before, interfering busy bodies who thought they could do better than the police.
‘For one thing we don’t even know if this is a murder yet,’ he said.
‘You think Carol threw herself in the pond?’
‘She could have fallen, banged her head,’ the inspector said, speaking to the old woman as though she were a child. ‘We like to establish the facts before we start jumping to fantastic theories.’
‘It’s a murder,’ Granny said. ‘There’s no doubt of that.’
‘Whatever,’ Miskin said and then put an arm around Granny’s shoulders and began to lead her away from the scene. ‘I’m going to arrange for a car to take you home. A woman of your age shouldn’t be standing around in wet clothing.’
‘I’m fine,’ Granny protested. She hated being reminded of her advanced years and felt she could run rings around the chief inspector.
‘That’s as maybe,’ Miskin said. ‘But I insist you go home and wait there. I’ll get someone around later to take a formal statement.’
Granny noticed a bright flash from the corner of her eye and when she turned she saw that a police photographer was recording the scene. She patted her mobile in her pocket, thankful that she had thought to take her own photographs.
‘You’ll keep me informed on the case?’ she asked.
‘Of course,’ Miskin smiled, warmly. ‘After Scotland Yard, Interpol and MI5 you’ll be my first port of call.’
Granny looked at him, aware that he was patronising her. That was fine and only served to strengthen her determination to solve this case before the police did. After the last time you’d think the chief inspector would at the very least consider what she had to say, but once again all he saw before him was an old woman. He didn’t have the imagination to consider the possibility that anyone other than the police would be able to crack the case.
‘And if I find anything,’ Granny said, pulled her pipe from her pocket and placed it in her mouth. ‘You’ll be my first port of call. After Interpol, Scotland Yard and MFI of course.’
‘Yes,’ Miskin said with a tight smile. He watched as the old woman brought a match to the pipe and sucked it to life.
‘Very good, ‘ Granny said. She took another look around and watched for a moment as several policemen, all wearing Wellingtons, carefully measured the distance from the pond edge to Carol’s body.
Miskin took a look around himself and noticed Dai Twice on crowd control. News about the body must have spread around the village and several constables were holding back curious villagers. ‘You know Constable Davies I think?’
‘Dai, aye,’ Granny said. ‘I know him.’
‘Good,’ the chief inspector said. ‘I’ll get him to give you a lift home.’
And so for the second time in as many days, Granny found herself sat in a police vehicle with Dai Twice at the wheel.
‘Of course,’ Twice said as they pulled up outside Granny’s house. ‘I don’t condone the public involving themselves in police investigations, but if you should discover anything that could help then you could contact me.’
Granny smiled. Twice was a special constable or as they were known -Community Policemen. He wasn’t full time in the job, his contribution being on a voluntary basis, but he had the uniform, got to drive the car and, as he was fond of pointing out, had the same powers as a regular police officer. Granny didn’t think he had a regular job since he’d been made redundant from the old brewery several years ago and she hadn’t known him do any work, other than his policing duties, since.
‘You mean if I solve this case,’ the old woman said. ‘You wish to take the credit?’
‘No,’ Twice smiled, aware that there was no pulling the wool over Granny’s eyes but trying just the same. ‘Though it is possible you could stumble onto something. You’ve done it before.’
‘I have,’ Granny said, smiling. She still felt a sense of great pride at bringing Nigel Charlton and his daughter to justice. If not for her they would have gotten clean away with murder since the police had been completely stumped with the case.
‘Mind you,’ Twice said. ‘We don’t know there’s been a murder yet. It could have been a tragic accident.’
‘It’s murder,’ Granny retorted. As far as she was concerned there was no doubt of that.
‘That’s still to be officially established,’ Twice said. ‘Mind you for what it’s worth I think you may be right.’
Granny smiled, thought: oh, I’m right. I very nearly always am.
‘I’ll keep in touch,’ Granny said. ‘On one condition.’
Twice frowned, not sure he was going to like what the old woman would say next. He knew from past experience that she could be a shrewd character.
‘Go on,’ he said, timidly.
‘That you let me know what’s going on,’ Granny said. ‘I’ll need to know the exact cause of death, the time of the death, anything like that.’
‘Anything I can tell you,’ Twice said. ‘I will.’
That was enough for Granny. It meant that she and Twice would have some sort of ongoing dialogue concerning the case, and she knew that she would be able to manipulate the special constable into revealing pretty much anything she needed to
know. It would also be useful to have him and his uniform to hand if her investigation got a little tricky.
‘Deal,’ Granny said and stepped out of the car.
She watched Twice pull off and drive away, aware that curtains across the street were twitching. No doubt she would once again be the object of village gossip but that didn’t bother her. In fact she quite enjoyed the notoriety and subscribed to Oscar Wilde’s view – “There is only one thing in life worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about.”
Ten
Two pipes and a mug of strong tea later and Granny was sat in her living room, thumbing through the photographs of the body on her mobile phone. She studied each image for several moments hoping to pick out any details she may have missed, but all she could see were Carol’s sightless eyes staring out from the aluminosilicate glass screen of the phone.
Poor Carol.
No one should ever have to go like this.
She wished Arthur were here and for a moment considered taking a walk to the allotments where she knew she would find him at this time of day, but she decided against going out. It was only now, in the silence of her own home, that the full realisation of Carol’s death hit her.
The shock of finding the body was finally making itself felt.
At first it had all seemed like a dream, though perhaps not a dream exactly but the reality of the situation hadn’t registered with the old woman. There had been a surreal quality about finding the body and Granny had immediately gone into amateur detective mode, thinking of it as a mystery for her to solve and not really considering the poor girl who lay there dead in the pool. If was as if Carol’s body became nothing more than a prop in a play where Granny was the principle player.
It hit her now, though.
It hit her like a sledgehammer on amphetamines.
Granny buried her face in her hands and allowed the tears to come. She didn’t fight it and welcomed the emotional onslaught, knowing it was inevitable, that it would be cathartic. Each and every tear shed was worth several hours of therapy.