‘Quite right. Much too speculative as yet. Meanwhile I think Dorothy and I will stay in Bath for another few days. I want to tell Inspector Roberts what Sammy told you two, and I want to show him this picture. It may get Caine to open up, that and Sammy’s story.’
He wasn’t, however, very hopeful, he told me on the way back to our home from home. ‘If he says anything at all, he’ll just pooh-pooh Sammy’s story, claiming he’s too stupid to remember anything or get it right.’
‘Yes, I can hear the nasty language now.’
‘As for the drawing, he’ll make fun of it, claim it’s nothing more than a crude piece of rubbish, all Sammy’s imagination.’
‘All the same, Alan, I’m sure I’ve seen that woman somewhere, and not long ago. I wish I could remember where.’
TWENTY-NINE
The answer came to me just as I was dropping off for my nap, and woke me with no hope of getting back to sleep.
Alan had just put down the newspaper before succumbing to sleep. He sighed when I sat straight up. ‘Now what?’
‘I remember her!’
‘Remember who, dear heart?’ He sounded drowsy.
‘Whom. The woman in Sammy’s drawing. The one with Caine.’
That woke him right up. ‘Who is she?’
‘I don’t know, but I know where we saw her. Twice. The first time was at Stonehenge. Do you remember that woman who was making a fuss in the gift shop? I didn’t catch much of what she said, but she was very upset about something, and kept arguing with the clerk. She finally stormed out in a huff, and we could buy what we wanted.’
‘I think I remember. Vaguely. The chain of events that happened shortly after that wiped it out of my mind. And you say there was another time?’
‘I think so. I’m not so sure about this one, but I think she was in the gift shop at the Baths that day when the jewellery was stolen. Or maybe the next day, when I was trying to find out some stuff and then the chain-reaction accident made such a mess.’
‘Hmm. And that was the day when Caine bumped into you.’
‘Yes.’
We looked at each other, and Alan picked up the phone to call Rob.
Certain plans were made; certain actions were put in train. Then Alan stooped and put on his shoes. ‘I think it’s time we talked to the manager of the shop at Stonehenge.’
The day seemed to have lasted a long time, but it was still early afternoon when we set out. We expected to find few people at the monument on such a cold dark day, and we weren’t disappointed. The car park was almost empty. We told the ticket-taker that we were there only to visit the gift shop, not the henge, and he let us through.
‘I hope the same person is on duty,’ I murmured to Alan. ‘Maybe we should have called?’
‘It’s nearing the end of the season,’ he said. ‘I’m betting that the summer help will have departed and only the regular staff will be here. As I recall, she looked like a settled member of the crew.’
Whether Alan was right or not, the same woman was in fact at the desk. Middle-aged, a bit dumpy, she certainly did look settled. And bored. She looked at her watch before she saw us and then brightened a little.
‘Good afternoon,’ she said with a smile. ‘Actually rather a frightful afternoon, though, isn’t it?’
‘Terrible,’ I said with a shiver. ‘And yesterday was so beautiful.’
‘A perfect day for visitors,’ she said with a nod. ‘We were worked off our feet. And today look at it!’
‘I don’t know about you,’ I said, ‘but I’d always rather be busy. It’s tiring, but the time goes so much faster.’
‘And it’s more interesting. Most people are delightful, fun to talk to. Then there are the others – but they’re interesting, too.’
‘Actually, we came here to talk to you about one of the other sort, the not-delightful kind. We were here early last week when you were having a good deal of trouble with one woman in particular. She was tall, with very thin hair, and oddly dressed. She looked a bit like what we would in my day have called a hippy, except she was far too old. Sixties, at least, I’d say. Do you happen to remember her?’
‘Do I! I thought I was going to have to call the manager, or the police! She wittered on and on about how mistaken we all were about the henge, how we were angering the gods of the place and we would face fearful retribution. That was her phrase, fearful retribution. Can you believe, in this day and age? Of course she was dotty, but there’s dotty and dotty, and she was the dangerous kind.’
‘Goodness! Did she make threats, or what? Besides “fearful retribution”, I mean.’
‘I didn’t really listen, to be honest. It was all the usual hodgepodge, Druids and that, ancient rituals we were profaning. They come now and then, you know, the Druids. Usually at the summer solstice. They think the place was theirs, originally. They’re quite wrong, but they’re harmless, really. But this one wasn’t. She was … she put the wind up me proper, and I admit it.’
‘I think,’ said Alan, ‘that we should introduce ourselves. My name is Alan Nesbitt, and this is my wife Dorothy Martin. Shortly after we witnessed that little scene between you and the unbalanced woman, we went out to our car and found some items in it that were not ours, and that we hadn’t put there. When they turned out to be stolen goods, and we were temporarily under suspicion, we were naturally interested in investigating the matter. As it happens, I am a retired policeman, so I know a little about investigation.’
‘I’m sure you do. I think I remember a little about that. I’m Emmy Brice, by the way. How do you do.’ We all exchanged nods. ‘Of course you’d want to find out who did such a thing.’
‘And that,’ I finished, ‘is what we’re doing here today. We are beginning to think this woman might have been involved in some way in the thefts. Now, you may think us dotty, but we wonder if this is the woman in question.’
Alan produced an envelope from the case he’d been carrying. ‘It’s not your conventional sort of picture, I admit.’ He pulled out Sammy’s drawing of Caine and the woman.
‘My word! No, not conventional. But yes, this is the woman. It doesn’t even look like her, really, but it’s her. I don’t know the man beside her. Nasty type, isn’t he?’ She looked again and then looked back at us, puzzled. ‘How does he do that? The person who drew this, I mean. It’s just a mess of colour and peculiar shapes, but I knew it for that woman straightaway.’
‘I think it’s just pure genius,’ I said. ‘It was a young man who drew this, a man who suffers from Down syndrome. He’s never had any art training, but somehow he can produce portraits of absolutely anybody.’
‘Oh, is it Sammy?’ Her face lit up.
‘You know Sammy?’
‘Everyone knows Sammy, at least everyone in the museum shop world. He’s famous. I’ve never happened to meet him, but I know all about what a great person he is. I didn’t know he was also an artist.’ She looked again at the picture. ‘I can’t get over this. No technique, no attempt at realistic drawing, and yet …’
‘Alan thinks he can paint people’s souls. That’s really scary, but I think it’s true.’
‘I also think,’ said Alan quietly, ‘that God often gives special gifts to people with handicaps, to make up for what they can’t do.’
‘Well, if Sammy really can do that, and I think maybe it’s true, I feel sorry for this pair. Their souls are really ugly.’
Reluctantly she gave the picture back to Alan, who opened his mouth to say thank-you-and-goodbye. I put a hand on his arm.
‘Alan, I’d like to take another look at that chess set. That’s if you still have it?’ I added to the clerk.
‘Oh, yes. I had to put it back for a while, because we’d somehow lost one pawn. Fortunately the artist had another he could send us. In any case, it’s a bit pricey for a shop like this, where people mostly want cheap souvenirs. We keep it under lock and key now.’ She led us to a glass display case where the set was laid out in all its glory.
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‘It’s quite heavy. Everything is made of local stone, and the pieces are meant to be symbols of Stonehenge.’ She opened the case and picked up one of the men. ‘See, this is the king. The sun. And the queen is the moon.’
‘Of course, because the henge is a kind of astronomical calendar!’ I exclaimed.
‘Well, that’s one of the theories, anyway. The bishops are meant to be Druid priests – historically inaccurate, that, but never mind. The rooks are of course bits of the henge itself, and the knights – well, they’re knights, though not on horseback as is usual. You see they have shields. That’s a nod to another bit of folklore, that King Arthur, with the help of Merlin and lots of knights, brought the stones here from Ireland.’
‘Fascinating,’ I marvelled. ‘A lot of spurious history in art. And the pawns?’
‘What one might expect. Stylized stone-age labourers. Perhaps the least spurious depiction of them all, since they almost certainly did build the place.’
‘Alan.’ I turned a pleading eye to him. ‘I know it’s a lot of money, more than we can really afford. But I’d like to give it to Andrew. He’s a good player if he had you almost stalemated, and he should have something better than that tiny set. And he’s been through such a lot …’
Alan gave me the wonderful smile that I first fell in love with, and said to the clerk, ‘Wrap it up, please.’
That took a while. We wandered around, looking at this and that, not intending to buy anything more. Our budget had been more than bent! As she worked, the clerk chatted. We were still the only customers in the shop, and closing time was soon. The poor woman was relieved to have something to do and someone to talk to.
‘You know,’ she said, wrapping the last pawn and nestling it in the box, ‘it’s funny, but it was this very chess set that started that woman’s rantings. She claimed it was all wrong. Well, of course it is, but it’s just meant for fun, not to be historically accurate. And the thing was, she claimed only the bishops really belonged, that the rest were … goodness, I think she really used the word “blasphemy”. Then she picked up one of the knights – the display was open then – and made to throw it across the room, and that was when I was ready to scream for help. But someone came into the shop just then, and I was able to get the knight away from her, and she said something that sounded like very bad language indeed, only thank goodness it wasn’t in English, and then she left. Now, there you are, all secure. Quite heavy, though. Thank you very much indeed, sir,’ she added as he handed her a credit card. ‘Would you like some help getting the box to your car?’
Alan disclaimed all need for assistance and we left with expressions of mutual esteem. ‘Okay,’ I said when we were out of the car park, ‘I’m in need of sustenance. Tea would do. Beer would be better. What can we find on the way back?’
What we found was a nice little inn that could provide either. The weather hadn’t got any more friendly, and in view of the roaring fire at one end of the room, I changed my mind and opted for tea. We were directed to a parlour room, also with a fire, and ordered a full afternoon tea, scones, sandwiches and all.
‘I’m going to weigh three hundred pounds when we get home,’ I commented.
‘Call it twenty stone. It sounds better,’ he said calmly. ‘We’ll walk it off once we’re on home ground. Ah, here we are.’
I poured the hot, fragrant tea, and Alan held up his cup in a toast. ‘Here’s to a very successful afternoon!’
I sipped. ‘Ouch! Too hot to drink yet. Yes, thank God for bored, gossipy clerks! She never even wondered why we were asking all those questions.’
‘I think perhaps she’s the sort of woman for whom asking questions is the normal manner of conversation. I explained in order to lead into the main point. And it worked, didn’t it?’
‘Even better than I’d hoped. She not only recognized the woman, but told us she’s a nutter.’
‘With a fixation, or an obsession, or whatever one might want to call it, about Stonehenge.’
I picked up a scone and buttered it. ‘What is Rob doing, meanwhile?’
‘Checking with the people at the Baths. If you’re right, and you saw this woman there, they might remember her. She certainly sounds odd enough to stick out in a crowd.’
‘Right, and the next thing is to get this picture duplicated and in the hands of the police. It isn’t your typical ID photo, but if the woman at Stonehenge – Emmy, that’s right – if she spotted it right away, other people will, too.’
‘Yes, and Rob needs to know the story we picked up today, as well. We’re closing in, love. We’ve got Caine and this woman together at the bluestone quarry. We’ve got her at Stonehenge, and maybe at the Baths at the time Caine was also there. The connections aren’t very firm, as yet, but now we have some ideas.’
‘But what on earth is the connection between Caine and Nutcase? They’re not friends. At least Sammy had the impression they met for the first time at the quarry, and talked only for a little while, and then left separately.’
‘And before they left,’ Alan said, gesturing with a sandwich to reinforce his point, ‘Caine told Sammy to get that piece of bluestone.’
‘You think it was for her? But if she wanted a piece, why didn’t she just take it herself?’
‘I’m speculating here. But perhaps she was intimidated by the prohibitions against stealing the stone.’ I opened my mouth, but he held up a hand. ‘I know, I know, she doesn’t seem the law-abiding sort, from what little we know of her.’
‘She was about to throw that chess piece, destroying the museum’s property.’
‘Agreed. But there are other possibilities. Perhaps the stone was simply too heavy for her. I didn’t try to lift it when it was in that box in our boot, but even a smallish rock can weigh quite a lot. Or, and this is maybe the most likely, she may have felt it would be sacrilege to take some of the material that built the henge.’
I finished the scone, washed it down with some tea, and picked up a sandwich. ‘Okay.’ I thought for a moment while taking a couple of bites. ‘How’s this? Caine spots her, for some reason, as a likely mark. Sammy doesn’t give us much idea of how she was dressed, but when we saw her, she was wearing bits and pieces, looking like she had dressed out of a ragbag, a colourful one, though. So Caine approaches her, starts her talking, soon catches on to her obsession. He decides he’s going to try to sell her a piece of bluestone. As soon as she leaves, he tells Sammy to get a piece, and they take it away.’
‘Hmm. But he never does sell it to her, does he? Because it landed in a box in our car. And what about the stuff from all the other museums?’
‘I don’t know.’ I polished off the sandwich, left the fruitcake for Alan, and poured myself another cup of tea. ‘There’s an awful lot we don’t know. But I’d bet money on those two being in this mess together, somehow.’
Alan sighed. ‘We’re making bricks without straw again.’
‘We’ve made some very nice ones from time to time using that very method. Let’s get back to our room and call Rob. He might have some straw for us.’
THIRTY
Rob called us before we got back. Actually he called Alan, but as he was driving I picked up. ‘Rob, we’re in the car. We’ll call you in a minute or two when Alan finds a place to stop.’
There was a lay-by not far ahead. Alan pulled in, killed the engine, and called back, putting the speaker on. ‘We collected some bits of information just now that will interest you,’ Alan began. ‘What about you? Any successful digging?’
‘A trifle or two at the Baths shops. We talked to people at both of them, the small one in the complex itself and the larger one up top. We’d have learned more if we’d had a picture of the woman in question, but we did show them Caine’s picture, and several of the clerks said they had seen him in the shops more than once. One said she’d been a little uneasy about him, thought he might be up to no good, and kept a close eye on him. Of course, that might have been because it was the police who
were asking.’
I groaned. ‘Oh, yes, the hindsight effect. “’Ee looked shifty, officer. I told meself, ’ee’d bear watchin’, ’ee would.”’
Both Alan and Rob laughed at my Agatha-Christie-esque quote. ‘Spot on, Dorothy! But in this case my people thought it was genuine. The clerk said Caine had been spending time near the more expensive items, particularly the jewellery, but when asked if he’d like some help, shied off. And then, of course, some of the jewellery was stolen shortly after that. But no one saw Caine actually steal anything.’
‘You know,’ I put in, ‘I’ve been wondering about that. There was almost nothing extremely valuable in the loot found in our car, and some of it was literally valueless. Is it a little out of the … the pattern, or whatever, for Caine to steal expensive jewellery? Or to get Sammy to take it for him, which is what I, at least, believe?’
‘That, of course, is one of our problems. And we have not yet been able to get a single word out of Caine, who is at present our only source of information. We’ve charged him with petty theft, so we can continue to hold him, but we’re sure there’s a lot more going on. We just can’t prove it.’
‘We have some information that may help,’ said Alan. ‘Shall we meet somewhere to talk about it?’
We ended up at the fish and chips place, and Sylvie joined us. It was too early to think about supper, but we had beer and conversation.
‘All right, what do you have to tell us?’
‘Oh, my. A lot. But before we even start, Alan, show them the picture.’
‘A little gift from one of your grandchildren?’ asked Rob with an indulgent smile when it was put into his hands. Then he took a second look. ‘Good grief! It’s Caine! Who drew this … this extraordinary picture?’
‘Sammy,’ I said smugly. ‘He’s an amazing artist, isn’t he?’
‘Amazing isn’t the word. Sylvie, take a look at this.’
Sylvie wasn’t as blown away as the rest of us had been. ‘Yes, I knew Sammy liked to draw. He once showed me a picture he had drawn of a rose, and it was all the wrong colours and shapes, and yet unmistakably a rose that he loved. He somehow gets to the heart of whatever he’s drawing.’ She picked up the drawing. ‘So this is Simon Caine. Nasty sort of man, isn’t he?’
The Bath Conspiracy Page 23