"Oh, nothing. Just wondering who this man is. Because I know for a fact my father has been taken over and replaced with a right old softy."
"You cheeky sod." Maybe Stanley was getting softer. It was the business with Spider and Pam—he hadn't been there for them as much as he could have. The way he had acted made it hard for Pam to approach them as family in times of need, and look what he'd missed out on. He'd risked never spending time with his nephew, so he understood, only too well.
"Okay, Uncle Stan. If you say so, I'll be good."
"You better be, or there will be no more cases for you."
Spider leaned forward, the chair back on four legs, eyes ablaze. "What, you mean I can come on other cases with you? That is so cool."
"Hold on. We have to solve this one first," warned Kate.
"Oh, we will, don't you worry." Stanley smiled, becoming more and more at ease.
"What are you up to?" asked Kate suspiciously.
"Nothing! But I have a good feeling. Things are going our way."
"Here we are," said Mrs. Spencer. "A nice cup of tea. Sorry about earlier. I brought biscuits," she said with pride.
"Biscuits! Lovely." Stanley was feeling better by the minute. If he'd thought he could get away with a few puffs on his pipe it would have been perfect, but he got the impression that would be pushing his luck a little too far.
Unwanted Messages
For a few minutes, the only sounds were the tinkling of expensive bone-china teacups and saucers, the quiet, and not so quiet, drinking and slurping of tea, and the munching of biscuits. Stanley stopped at one, mainly because of the sideways glance from Kate.
"Mrs. Spencer, I know this is difficult, and I understand you have only just heard about your son and grandson, but do you mind if I ask a few questions now? I'm sorry, but I am positive it will help. In fact, I believe it to be crucial."
"If you must," she said with a sigh. Resigned, rather than curt with her words.
"What happened? Why did you lose contact, and when?"
"You get straight to the point, don't you? It was so long ago that it feels like a different lifetime now. I suppose in many ways it is. Charlie was always a troublesome child, and his father and I could never control him. It got worse as he grew older and we had numerous run-ins over the years. He was, Mr. Bloom, a criminal, and not a very good one at that."
"I thought as much. So you finally broke it off?"
"It's not as easy as that. We grew apart, him always bringing trouble to our door, until eventually it got too much. Too extreme. I couldn't stand it any longer. He was always coming asking for money, perpetually in debt from gambling or one crazy scheme after another. For a while we helped, or tried to, but in the end it became unbearable so we refused to give him any more money. This was a long time ago, you must understand, when his father was still alive."
"But you kept in touch?"
"A little, but it hurt too much, Mr. Bloom. You cannot imagine what it is like to know your child doesn't care for you, feel love, and only contacts you for one thing. Money. And back then we didn't really have any. We gave him what we could until we eventually said no. Neither of us could face it."
"He wasn't happy?"
"No. Far from it. He ranted and raved, said we would never see our grandchildren again. Unfortunately, and we never believed it at the time, he meant it."
"So he stopped all contact when they were young? You weren't allowed to see them?"
"That is correct. There was nothing we could do. They are, were, his children. Do you know that he never even came to his own father's funeral. I tried to get in touch, went to see him, but he wouldn't talk to me. He refused to go to the funeral, and that was the final straw I'm afraid. After that there was nothing. I never even knew about the children's poor mother until months after she died. Nobody told me."
"So he wasn't, how shall I put this, a very loving son or a very nice man? Would that be fair?"
"Unfortunately, that is more than fair. I had resigned myself to the truth many years ago, but it still hurts. Eventually, I moved on and moved away. I married again and had a happy life until my husband passed. But I always missed having a son that cared for me, and I regret so much not doing my utmost to be a part of the grandchildren's lives. When I heard what had happened I got in touch straight away. We hadn't spoken in years, Charlie and I.
"Every so often I would get a request for money, when he was desperate and had run out of options. But I always said no and that was it, no further contact. Much as it tore me apart, I would not be held to ransom, paying for access to my grandchildren. That was me, my doing. I should have given him money and maybe I could have been a part of their lives." Mrs. Spencer wiped at her eyes and smiled weakly. She had run out of steam.
Stanley wiggled his eyebrows at Kate, telling her to console the distraught woman. Stanley wasn't good at this kind of thing and never had been.
"It wasn't your fault. It's okay. At least you have a second chance with Denise now. That's good, isn't it?"
"Yes, thank you, Kate. I so wish he had been a good son, but he wasn't. He was always up to no good, and he got worse as he got older, so I heard over the years. It started years ago. I'd get a video cassette in the mail. Terrible things, so mean even back then. He would taunt me, show little video clips on them, never saying it outright, but asking for money while the children were playing beside him, looking wretched and unclean. Poor things didn't know what he was doing, but I knew. He was trying to blackmail me. He wouldn't speak to me, but it didn't stop him sending those damn mobile phones now and then, once they were cheap, although I suppose they were always stolen. He'd leave a message, asking for money, or a video clip of the children, now grown up. I had to stop reading them in the end, or watching them. It all got too much. There is only so much a mother can cope with."
"That's terrible," said Kate.
"Sounds like a right nasty dude to me," said Spider.
"Yes, thank you, Spider," said Stanley, giving him a warning glance.
"He was. A mean man that used his own children to extort money when nothing else worked. But I couldn't cope, couldn't continue like that no matter what I missed out on. When he discovered I had married again, and to a man that was well-off, he became intolerable. Threatening, to his own mother. Saying I should share my money with him, even though he'd refused to have anything to do with me for years, and hadn't even gone to his own father's funeral. He found me even though I'd moved away, but those poor children, they never knew me, where I was."
"That explains why the police never got in touch with you," said Kate. "I guess they didn't know where you were as you changed your name years ago."
"I suppose. Do you think I should contact them now?" asked Mrs. Spencer.
"I believe you will have to. We all will. This is the answer, to what happened. Ransom." Stanley leaned back in the hard chair, fighting the smug smile that tried to surface.
The Big Reveal
All eyes turned to Stanley. This was it, he just knew it. The moment. The genuine, maybe never to be repeated, big reveal.
Stanley smiled, unable to stop himself, then pushed away from his chair a little and moved it back away from the table. He spoiled the drama somewhat by banging his belly on the table, causing the china to clatter dangerously. Unperturbed, he stood, and said, "Yes, ransom."
"Dad, what are you on about?"
"Mr. Bloom, is this a joke? My son and grandson are dead."
"Yes, I know, and I am so sorry, but I believe I have the answer. I know who killed them."
Stanley felt excited, almost joyous, yet above all there was a sadness. It was hard to accept that a son could treat his mother in such a way. Be, when it came down to it, such a bad son. Plenty of men were bold, cold-blooded killers, but they still loved their mum, no matter what.
Charlie, it seemed, was a pathetic petty criminal who couldn't resist gambling, and losing, and used his own children to hold his parents, then just his mother, to
ransom. What kind of man does that? How could he keep extorting money until it had stopped working and then refuse to let her see the children ever again?
As Stanley pondered, he found himself sucking his pipe, stood a few yards away from the still seated group, all eyes upon him. He paced back and forth, trailing a cloud of smoke behind him. Roobarb sauntered over and sniffed at his leg, interrupting his stride, but the great detective was not to be deterred.
"Ever since we returned to the scene of the crime, and Spider here talked about it being exactly what it appeared to be, it slotted into place. If things were how they appeared, and we ignored the assumption that somebody had tried to cover up the theft of the van and the murder in a rather ineffective manner, well, it began to make sense."
"What did? I'm sorry, I'm confused. I don't know the details yet," said Mrs. Spencer.
"The van had been wiped of fingerprints apart from your son's and grandson's, or so we thought. But the truth is they stole the van after it had been thoroughly cleaned. This morning, when I woke up, it all made perfect sense. It was all down to Denise explaining your renewed contact with her, your relationship with your son, and excuse me, but the fact you are well-off.
"Dad, get on with it," said Kate, a combination of excitement and frustration on her face, mixed in with the obvious need to show proper respect for the death of family to Mrs. Spencer.
Stanley breathed deep of the strong smoke, exhaled and turned, pointing the end of his pipe at them for effect. He felt like a proper, genuine private eye. The best. "Nobody that buries two men alive, and leaves them to die like that, would leave a van so close to the scene. And nobody would bury them so close to where they could be found, and not in such a shallow grave either. It never made sense."
"Maybe the killers never cared about the bodies being found. Charlie always mixed with the wrong people, dangerous people, and always owed money. It was probably a warning to others, is my guess."
"That's what I thought at first, but it still made no sense. Why bother? Why risk them being found so soon, or even still alive? No, if somebody had wanted to send a real message to other debtors they could have buried them deep and left them missing for months or years. That would be a proper warning. Then an anonymous call to tip off the police and the bodies would be discovered."
"So what is the truth?" asked Mrs. Spencer.
"The truth is," Stanley took a slow puff, exhaled and said, "they killed themselves."
There was silence. No shouts of, "What!" or, "No, that's not possible," or anything else. Everyone just stared at him blankly. It wasn't the response he had anticipated, it was the opposite.
Roobarb got bored and wandered off.
"Yes, ahem, they killed themselves." Maybe nobody heard what he'd said?
Again with the stares.
And the silence.
"Can you hear what I'm saying? Am I talking too quietly?" Stanley was at a loss. This was his big reveal. Where were the gasps and the cries for more of an explanation?
"We can hear you, Dad. But, um, in case you've forgotten, and are you feeling all right?"
"I'm fine, perfectly fine."
"Then in case you have forgotten, they were in coffins, and buried. Nailed shut coffins. That were buried, in the ground. You can't do that yourself."
"Aha. Not unless somebody nailed you in and buried you," said Stanley, waiting for the congratulations and the cries of how great a detective he was.
"Um, Uncle Stan, we know they were nailed in and buried."
"Is he all right? Is he having mental issues or something? Does he need a doctor? Has he got pills for it?" Mrs. Spencer looked concerned for Stanley's well-being, and a little angry too.
"No, no, no, you're missing the point. They wanted to be buried. Oh, this isn't going well at all. Look, let's start again." Stanley took another puff, this time more to calm his nerves than for dramatic effect, and resumed his pacing. Nervous pacing.
"Okay, Dad, but you know you aren't making sense, right?"
"I am making perfect sense. To me, at least. Look, what I mean is they planned it. They had themselves buried, assuming they would be released within a few hours, or that whoever buried them would come get them soon enough if the plan backfired, whatever," Stanley waved away the details. "They held themselves to ransom. They got themselves buried, and my guess is they got their accomplice to record it, probably on a phone, like the ones Charlie has been sending you asking for money, Mrs. Spencer, and they used it to ask for a ransom from you. Something went wrong somewhere. My guess is you never saw the footage?"
"Oh my God, it can't be true! I told you I stopped looking at the damn things ages ago. But yes, there was another phone recently. Left at the front door, no less, rather than just coming in the mail. I knew it was from him and couldn't look."
"You didn't even want to look at it after you found out your son and grandson were dead?" asked Stanley.
"Mr. Bloom, I have more than enough bad memories of my son. Do you really think the last memory I wanted once I knew they were dead was of him asking me for money and using whatever horrible way he could dream up to try to get it out of me? No thank you very much. I couldn't even consider it, and to be honest I never gave it much thought anyway. He does it, did it, maybe once or twice a year still. His little 'requests' were always so horrible. Can this be true?"
"I think it is," said Stanley.
"Dad, are you sure? You think they recorded themselves being buried alive as a way to get fake ransom money out of Mrs. Spencer?" Stanley could see Kate thinking it through, seeing if it all fitted together. Stanley knew it did.
He knew it the moment Denise mentioned her rich grandmother. The fact Charlie had come to his mother and tried any way he could to get money from her made it obvious to him that this was what had happened. It explained everything.
They didn't plan on being in the coffins long, just had it recorded so it looked genuine and then got the footage delivered in the hope she would hand over a lot of cash.
"Yes, this is what happened. Mrs. Spencer, do you still have the phone?"
"What? Oh, yes, of course. In the house. I can't bear to look at them, but I can't throw them out either. So stupid. This can't be happening. It's my fault, all my fault."
"Let's not jump to any conclusions," said Kate. "Come on, let's go find that phone and we can take it from there." Kate pointed at a chair, telling Stanley to wait, as she led a shaken Mrs. Spencer up toward the house while Stanley sat, pipe burned out.
"You're pretty good at this, Uncle Stan," said Spider with admiration.
"I hope so. Let's just pray I'm right. I'm sure I am though. Mostly."
Stanley felt a knot in his stomach.
What if he was wrong?
Confirmation
A rather confused Kate and a badly shaken Mrs. Spencer returned a few minutes later while Stanley and Spider were deep in the middle of speculating about who could have helped with the whole "caper," as Spider put it. Who was their accomplice, and more to the point, why hadn't they immediately released Charlie and Robert from their fake graves as soon as the video was shot?
Assuming Stanley was correct.
They cut short their conversation as the two women arrived and Kate helped Mrs. Spencer to sit—she looked awful. She clutched the phone tight, like it could change the past and offer up a different future.
"Here, let me," said Kate, taking the cheap phone away from the distraught woman.
Stanley mouthed a silent, "Over there," to Kate and Spider and then said, "We'll be back in a moment. Wait here while we take a look at the phone, if that's okay?"
"Yes, of course. I don't think I could bear to watch it. This is all my fault. I would have given him the money."
"You weren't to know, and let's just make sure I'm right first." Stanley really hoped he was, otherwise he had caused all this upset for nothing.
Stepping away and across the lawn, they gathered around Kate under the shade of a huge weeping willow
tree, the coolness welcome as the day got increasingly warmer.
"Are you sure about this, Dad? You know you've freaked out an old lady for no reason if you're wrong?"
"I'm sure." Stanley wasn't, but it was too late now.
Kate flipped up the lid of the plastic phone and a tiny piece of paper fell out. She picked it up and read, "Watch. Pay, or they die."
"I guess I was right," said Stanley, trying to keep any hint of gloating out of his voice.
"No need to gloat," said Kate.
Maybe he hadn't done as good a job as he'd thought. "Let's just watch."
Kate pressed a few buttons and then a tinny, synthetic sound could be heard as a surprisingly clear video recording on the small screen played.
Two minutes later it was over.
"Play it again," said Stanley.
They watched again, in silence. Stanley was right, or at least he assumed he was. The video showed a masked man bending and talking to the camera as he dragged two open coffins into a grave. Then, after disappearing for a moment, he returned with Charlie and Robert being led toward their final resting place. The angle was bad as the phone had clearly just been set down on a rock or a fallen tree stump, but it was clear enough to see the men walking slowly toward the coffins.
The supposed kidnapper directed them in, with dramatic, and to Stanley entirely over-the-top threats to blow their heads off as he waved around what looked like a gun but could have been a plastic toy for all he knew.
Then the men got into the coffins and were instructed to lie down.
The kidnapper walked toward the camera, picked it up and took it over to the grave site. He panned down, showing the men in the coffins, then settled the camera in the crook of a tree by the seems of it, as a branch partially bisected the view.
Charlie and Robert made a terrible acting duo. They screamed and shouted and generally went overboard with their reactions, all while still lying down neatly in the coffins. The masked kidnapper dragged the lids into place before nailing them shut and covering them with dirt and leaves. It was the most ridiculous thing he had ever seen—nobody in their right mind would have believed it. Or, maybe an elderly woman who wanted her family more than anything else would ignore the terrible acting and see only what she wanted to see? They would never know.
Old Age Private Oh My! (Old Age Pensioner Investigations (OAPI) Cozy Mysteries Book 2) Page 15