The Measby Murder Enquiry

by Ann Purser

  “As it happens,” Gus said finally, “I am going there this evening myself. May I make an intelligent guess as to who your friend is?”

  Theo nodded, looking a little guilty. He had forgotten Enquire Within and the four members of its team.

  “Deirdre Bloxham?”

  “Of course. You knew that, didn’t you, Gus. Colleagues, and all that. Do hope I haven’t blown it with the dear girl. I’ll give her a ring and explain.”

  “Do that,” said Gus, and, making excuses that he must take advantage of the clear light and see what he could do with snapping some good shots of the Hall, he left.

  “WHY DON’T YOU come up to Tawny Wings for an early supper, and then we could go on to Ozzy’s together?” Deirdre asked. Gus had given Theo time to make his call, and then he rang her himself, saying that although it was a change of plan, he thought they could do some useful observation together.

  He walked through the village slowly, aiming to be with Deirdre around six o’clock. He had a niggling dread brewing in the pit of his stomach, and told himself this was just being unnecessarily dramatic. But he could not deny that he feared walking through the casino door. What would happen when he saw the dimly lit room filled with gaming tables, some people with poker faces, concealing their reactions at the contents of their hands of cards, others seated in attitudes of excitement or despair? Would there still be that old smell of stale, fear-induced sweat mixed with heady alcohol fumes? And would he be drawn in, the temptation proving too great?

  He was at the gates of Tawny Wings now, and took a deep breath. He reminded himself that he would be with Deirdre, the most sane, confident woman he had ever met, one with her feet firmly on the ground. With Deirdre beside him, with any luck he would see Ozzy’s through her clear-eyed objective view.

  Nevertheless, he was unusually silent during supper, and Deirdre took a good look at him. “You okay about all this?” she said, setting down a large helping of sticky toffee pudding in front of him.

  “Fine,” he said. “I don’t have to watch my weight, as I’m sure you have noticed.”

  “Idiot,” she said and reached out to put her hand over his. “You know perfectly well what I mean. Not too late to back out, Gus. I can go by myself, make up some excuse about doing research for my work for social services with compulsive gamblers.”

  Gus was silent for a few moments, and then he began fumbling in his pocket. He pulled out a handful of silver coins and a battered old leather wallet. He emptied the wallet of two twenty pound notes and added it to the coins. Then he pushed the whole lot over the table to Deirdre.

  “Please put that in your handbag, there’s a love,” he said. “Don’t ask questions, just be sure that you’ll be doing me a favour.”

  Deirdre was going to ask him if he’d like her to harness him to her belt with Whippy’s lead, just in case, but then she saw the tension in his expression and knew that it was no joke. Her heart went out to him, and she went to stand behind him, planting a kiss on the top of his head. “Come on, Augustus Halfhide,” she said. “Let’s go and do a job of work. And that’s all there is to it.”

  “WELL, I NEVER!” said Deirdre cheerfully as she approached the desk in the casino. “If it isn’t my old pal Mandy! The girl who lived next to me when we were all kids playing hopscotch in the street!”

  A heavily made-up woman smiled with genuine pleasure at seeing Deirdre. “Good God, girl,” she said. “What are you doing here? Bert would turn in his grave!”

  Deirdre roared with laughter. “That’s all you know, Mandy Wise,” she said. “My Bert loved a Saturday afternoon flutter on the gees. Anyway, now I’m here, just tell me how I should choose a surefire winner.”

  Gus marvelled at her composure. She had manoeuvred herself to shield Gus, and made no attempt to introduce him. She listened carefully as Mandy explained what she should do with her twenty pounds’ worth of chips, and directed her to the roulette table. “Start there. Easy peasy, that is,” Mandy said. “All you need to do is cross your fingers. And I’m always here if you need more chips. Have fun, you two.” She raised her eyebrows at Gus and asked if he was Deirdre’s brother. But giving him no time to answer, Deirdre marched off towards the roulette wheel, perfectly relaxed.

  With beginner’s luck, Deirdre won at the first spin, and she looked round at Gus, standing behind her. “Shall I have another go?” she said, and then her expression changed. She stood up abruptly, and whispered to him to follow her. She retreated into a shadowy corner where there were a few empty chairs for onlookers.

  “Gus, look over there, by the desk. Keep out of sight and don’t make a sound. Thank God they keep this place so dark.”

  “It’s so nothing distracts the punters, and nobody sees the dealer fiddling the cards,” Gus whispered into her ear. His heart was pounding, but he put both hands in his empty pockets and sat down. He looked over towards the desk, peering through the gloom.

  “Oh, my,” he said as he watched a smartly dressed woman turn and walk towards the roulette wheel. She stood there with the accustomed ease of someone who’d been there many times before. Gus caught sight of her face, and knew at once, without question, that he was looking at an addict.

  “It’s her, isn’t it?” said Deirdre.

  Gus nodded. “Alwen’s pride and joy. Wonderwoman Bronwen, God help her.”

  Fifty-four

  DEIRDRE AND GUS waited in the shadows until they could see that Mandy Wise was, for the moment, surrounded by a group of punters newly arrived. Then they sidled out with their faces averted. Outside, they walked swiftly to Deirdre’s car and drove out of the car park and sped off towards Barrington.

  They were in total agreement. There had been no point in staying longer. What they had seen was so important that no gossip or rumour could match it. And they needed to get out before Bronwen Evans saw them. Two other pairs of eyes watched them leave, but they were not aware of these.

  “So there we have it,” Gus said as they left the outskirts of town and took the shortcut to the village through dark, overhanging tunnels of trees. “Alwen’s beloved daughter, so sophisticated and successful, is a compulsive gambler, and has probably worked her way through her own and her mother’s savings, and any other source of income she could get her hands on. Oh, yes, Deirdre, that’s how it works, believe me. The only thing that matters is the conviction that you will scoop a fortune with the next game. Game! What a misnomer, my dear. Never think of it as only a game. To quote our Ivy, it is the work of the devil.”

  “But not everybody gets addicted,” Deirdre said, though she believed every word that Gus had said.

  “True,” he replied but added that until you tried it you wouldn’t know. And then it would be too late. “Mind you,” he continued, “some of the best casinos offer helpful advice on how to recognise the signs of a growing addiction.”

  “Quietening their bad consciences?”

  Gus shrugged as they drove into Tawny Wings gateway. “Bad consciences are soon smothered, Dee-Dee, when there are larges sums of money involved.”

  Deirdre turned off the engine and looked at her watch. “You know what I’d like to do now?” she said, and Gus’s spirits rose.

  They were soon dashed. “I’d like to go down and see Ivy and Roy. It’s early yet, and a bit of Ivy’s sharp commonsense would be welcome just now.”

  “Supposing Alwen is with them?”

  “Well, we could risk it. If she was there, we could say we were just passing and decided to look in and say hello.”

  “Sounds a bit lame to me,” Gus said.

  Deirdre started the engine again, and began to back out of the drive. “Oh, come on, let’s just go. Please, Gus.”

  “Personally,” he answered, “I would rather go to the pub and have a large, strong drink. But each to his own. I’ll come, if you promise to take me back to Tawny Wings and give me a generous tot of whisky to help me sleep.”

  “Done,” said Deirdre, and she pulled up outside Springf
ields. They got out and looked up at Ivy’s window.

  “Light’s on,” Gus said, “so chances are that it’s just Ivy and Roy. In we go, my lovely.”

  MAX AND MARGARET had been sitting at the casino bar for some time, perched on high stools, drinking coffee as instructed. “So they weren’t here long,” Margaret said. She was talking about Deirdre and Gus, but both kept their eyes on Bronwen. Her face had lit up as the wheel spun and she was in luck again.

  “But it wasn’t Theo Roussel, was it. It was our friend Halfhide. Can it be that Doris is slipping? Or have her many informants finally turned, like us.”

  “Well, we tried. And I haven’t given up yet,” Margaret said. “Just give me a little more time.”

  “Oh, God,” said Max. “Look, she’s risking all, the little fool.” They watched as the wheel spun. Bronwen’s luck had run out, and she went swiftly over to the desk, her face expressionless.

  “You watch,” Margaret said. “Another loan. Special privileges, being part of the family? Or perhaps not,” she added as she heard a raised voice. It was Bronwen, and she could see Mandy’s red face as she tried to calm her down.

  “Get on to my aunt!” Bronwen shouted. “Is she in her office? I’m going straight up to see her, and you’ll be out of a job by the time I come down!” With that, she marched off and disappeared.

  “Ooops!” said Margaret, smiling. “I’m right, you know, Max. Things are changing, and with any luck not for the good for our Doris.”

  “So what do we do next?”

  “Report back to Doris that Deirdre Bloxham came in, but not with the squire. A very uncomfortable-looking Gus Halfhide was her escort, and they left as soon as they clapped eyes on Bronwen. That should put the wind up her knickers.”

  “And then?”

  “Trust me, Max. There’s more than one way of killing a cat.”

  IVY AND ROY were watching television on the small set Ivy had installed opposite her bed. From vowing never to watch the horrible thing, she had become something of a fan of one or two programmes. Once more, Roy marvelled at her ability to switch off if the programme did not suit. She would address it in a stern voice, warning that if it did not pull up its socks it would be banished to the dustbin. Soap operas were her favourites, and even among these she was very picky. No violence, no overt sex, and drunkenness was treated to a lecture on temperance.

  The result was that Ivy and Roy watched very little television, and even in the lounge, where it was on constantly, they turned their backs with great deliberation. Roy sometimes wished he could see something Ivy had rejected, but he managed to catch up when she was upstairs resting.

  “We’ve not seen Alwen again,” Ivy remarked, using the remote to switch off as two youngsters collapsed in ecstasy on an unmade bed.

  “True. Something’s up, I reckon,” said Roy. “I’ll have a word with Pinkers tomorrow. She’s more approachable than Mrs. Spurling. Maybe we could help in some way.”

  There was a gentle tap on Ivy’s door, and she and Roy looked at each other questioningly.

  “Is that her, do you think?” Ivy got up and opened the door. “Oh,” she said, “it’s you two. What on earth is it that couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

  “It’s important, Ivy,” Deirdre said. “Can we come in for a bit? It’s about Ozzy’s and Bronwen. It’s not that late, you know. Fortunately Miss Pinkney was on duty, so we managed to break through the blockade.”

  Fifty-five

  ALWEN HAD ONCE more had breakfast in her room, and now sat gazing blankly out of the window. She had had an early call from Bethan, who said she was very sorry but she would not be able to visit this afternoon, as they had no water. The men were coming to investigate but could not give her a time. She would ring later, and fix to come over tomorrow instead. There was good news, she said. Alwen’s house was finally sold, and all looked simple and swift. The buyers were not in a chain, and had ready cash.

  At first, Alwen had thought it was Bronwen. The two girls’ voices were much the same, although they were in all other ways so different. Bronwen was on her mind all her waking hours. She was so tired of trying to think up new ways to help her but always came back to the most drastic option. It would be worth it, wouldn’t it, especially now the house was sold?

  She heard footsteps coming along the corridor, and wondered whether it would be Ivy. She knew that sooner or later Ivy Beasley would not be able to curb her curiosity. Probably Roy, too. Nice man, that. And old Ivy was not so bad, once you got to know her. Pity they had got mixed up in that ridiculous enquiry agency! She knew, of course, that it had been Augustus Halfhide’s idea. The man should have known better. If he knew what was good for him, he would lie low. Strange that he should turn up in Barrington, when her sister’s contacts had remembered him as a young fool at the gaming tables. Then she had heard more of him when Max and Margaret had traced him working alongside Martin Reeves, who had been one of the gambling gang all those years ago. Those two idiots had used Martin’s name but made a real mess of that kidnap, and she had had to bail them out, paying the ransom money much reduced by skilful bargaining on her part.

  The footsteps stopped outside her door. A sharp rap caused her to look round in alarm. “Who is it?” she said quickly.

  There was no reply, but the door opened wide.

  “Doris! What on earth are you doing here?”

  “I can visit my big sister, can’t I?” Doris said, shutting the door firmly behind her. “I haven’t heard from you lately, and I was worried. Can’t have one of my important sources of information drying up! Besides which, there are urgent things we need to talk about.” Her voice was dry and chilly, and Alwen shivered.

  “What things?”

  “Well, your precious daughter for one. In fact, for one, two and three. It is time you rode to the rescue, Alwen. I’ve given her a long rein, but it has to end. It was sensible of you to pay the so-called ransom money, no doubt in the hope that all would be hushed up. No telling what those two idiots were planning to do after the mess they made of my kidnap idea. All designed to make Halfhide talk, and he said not a word!”

  Alwen looked at her sister’s smirking face and felt chilled. “I don’t think you can blame me for their failure, Doris,” she said. “I played my part. You had all the information I could gather.”

  “Oh, I don’t blame you,” Doris said carelessly. “No, that’s all in the past. But, I’m afraid Bronwen’s gambling debts are very much in the present, and I need to have them settled. Immediately, Alwen. So what do you intend to do?”

  “ROY! WHO IS that woman? Look, over there, talking to Mrs. Spurling.”

  “No idea, beloved. Should I know her? She’s a very smart lady, whoever she is.”

  Ivy gently put Tiddles down to the floor and reached for her second pair of glasses. “You’re right, Roy. Very smart indeed. Money oozing from every pore.”

  “Oh dear, I hope not,” said Roy, feeling queasy. “I expect she’s been visiting.”

  “We know all the regular visitors by now. I’ve not seen her before. But she reminds me of somebody. Have another look, Roy. Isn’t she familiar?”

  He peered across into the hall, where Doris was giving a stern lecture to Mrs. Spurling. “Yes, you’re right. Now who is it, Ivy?”

  They were both quiet for a moment, staring unabashed. Then Ivy said suddenly, “Got it! If she were twenty years younger, she’d be the image of Alwen’s daughter Bethan.”

  Roy nodded. “I don’t know about the exact image, but there’s definitely a look of Bethan about her. So who is she?”

  “Doris,” said Ivy. “It’s Doris May Osborne, nee Wilson, younger sister of Alwen Jones and owner of Ozzy’s Casino in Thornwell. I’d put money on it.”

  “How apt,” said Roy. “Well I never. Fancy her coming here. She’s not bothered before, has she? Why now, Ivy?”

  “Think, Roy,” said Ivy as they both watched Doris strut out of the entrance hall on her expensive high heels. “Rememb
er what Deirdre and Gus told us last evening? He said he could see by the look on Bronwen’s face that things were bad with her at the casino, and that could mean Doris needing to take action.” She shuddered. “Someone walked over my grave,” she said.

  Roy frowned. “Don’t say things like that, Ivy. I don’t like it, my dear, not at our age.”

  “Just a saying. No, what I mean is, I’ve got a horrible feeling that it’s all coming to a head. We need to move fast, Roy.”

  “If only we knew which direction to take,” he said.

  IVY SAT ALL afternoon in her room, thinking. She had told Roy she hadn’t slept well the previous night and would be having a good sleep. This was not true, but she wanted time to be by herself and think without interruptions.

  At last, just before the summons for tea, she stroked the little cat curled up asleep on her bed and went out of the door. She walked along the corridor until she came to Alwen’s door. She put her ear to it but could hear nothing, so she tapped. No reply, so she knocked more firmly. Still nothing, so she tested the door and opened it gently.

  “Alwen? It’s Ivy. Are you coming down for tea?” She pushed the door wide open and walked in.

  Alwen was stretched out on the bed, her hands clasped on her chest. Sleeping peacefully, thought Ivy, and she prepared to leave. But then something made her turn back. The room was deathly quiet, and Alwen’s mouth hung open.

  “Oh, dear God,” said Ivy. She went across to the bed and stroked the cold, rigid hand. “Poor soul,” she muttered and sat down quietly by the bed. “I’ll just sit here for a bit, my dear, to keep you company on your journey.”

  After half an hour, she got up and walked slowly out of the room, shutting the door carefully. With a slow tread, she made her way downstairs and along to the office. Miss Pinkney sat at the computer and looked up at Ivy with a smile. “Can I help you?” she said.