The Complete Dangerous Davies

by Leslie Thomas

  The thieves, having almost finished their task, paused. ‘Somebody’s in that shed,’ said one.

  ‘Trying to get out,’ added another.

  ‘Police,’ echoed the third. ‘There’s a copper locked in there.’

  ‘Get the stuff and then scarper,’ said the first. He tiptoed to the shed which had begun to rock perceptibly as Davies tried to force his way out. He returned to his accomplices. ‘’e won’t get out of there easy,’ he forecast. ‘It’s all metal.’

  They cleared the house deftly, carrying their loot to a van parked outside. It was still only ten thirty but the next day was Monday and people went to bed early. The street was dumb.

  As they were about to leave Davies launched his most frantic assault on the door. The shed was rocking on its foundations. ‘Come on,’ said the leader of the criminals. ‘Give him a hand.’

  The three went on swift tiptoes to the moving shed. With a nod from their leader they heaved it once. It fell forward, door foremost, onto the ground. Then they left.

  ‘Dangerous,’ whispered Mod. ‘A word.’ He rolled his fat, creased eyes. ‘In private.’

  ‘What is it?’

  Mod lowered his voice further. ‘I think I have solved the mystery.’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘The disappearing hatstand. From the library.’ He leaned closer. ‘It could be Mrs Fulljames.’

  ‘What makes you think so?’

  ‘It’s in the front room. Concealed behind the door.’ He looked swiftly both ways. ‘I’ve seen it.’

  Davies sighed. ‘I put it there. It turned up at the Welsh Harp car-boot sale.’

  ‘Amazing. Did you make an arrest?’

  ‘There was nobody to arrest. It was standing there with lots of space around it.’

  Delight spread across Mod’s face. ‘I’ll take it back this morning,’ he said. ‘The Librarian will be pleased.’

  ‘I’ll take it,’ Davies told him firmly. ‘It might be a bit heavy for you.’

  ‘You appear to be out of sorts, Dangerous.’

  ‘I spent two hours last night trying to kick my way out of a garden shed.’

  Mod examined him closely. ‘I noticed a discoloration on the forehead. Hospital job?’

  ‘I didn’t bother them.’ Davies walked into the front room and returned holding the cumbersome hatstand with both hands. ‘Are you coming down with me?’

  ‘Oh no, Dangerous. I don’t want to steal your thunder.’

  ‘Right,’ said Davies firmly. He opened the front door and manoeuvred the hatstand outside. ‘I hope this is something I might get some thanks for.’

  People stopped as he walked into the main street with the hatstand on his shoulder. ‘Doing a bit of totting, Dangerous?’ called a man from a car. Davies half turned and the long stem of the stand struck a rack of newspapers outside the Pakistani shop. He bent to try and pick it up striking the emerging owner of the shop a blow in the midriff.

  He was almost at the library when a car drew up behind him. ‘Hey you! Where are you taking that?’

  He knew a police voice when he heard it. ‘Buckingham bleeding Palace,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘I thought the Queen might like it.’

  They jumped from the car and he turned almost striking the leading constable. ‘Oh God, it’s you, Dangerous,’ said the policeman.

  ‘We had a call that somebody was hiking stolen goods down the street.’

  Davies said patiently: ‘It is stolen property. Nicked from the library. And I am restoring it.’ He paused. ‘Last night when I needed a copper there wasn’t one for bloody miles.’

  ‘That’s what they all say, Dangerous,’ said the constable cheerfully getting back into the car.

  Davies swore to himself and stumped along the street to the library. There he straightened himself up and, adjusting the stand on his shoulder, marched in. Inside there was only a woman sweeping and the girl behind the desk.

  ‘Is the Librarian in yet?’ inquired Davies looking about him.

  ‘It’s Monday,’ said the girl as if that were a complete answer.

  ‘Oh,’ he said his voice dropping. ‘Well, I’ve brought back your hatstand.’

  ‘Right,’ said the girl. Her eyes had dropped to something on her counter. She pointed vaguely. ‘Put it over there will you.’

  On Thursday he got an early train and was in Bournemouth by noon. Mildred was behind the reception desk at the hotel. Her round face lit when she saw him. ‘Dangerous, we could go for our walk this afternoon. I can get off.’

  He regarded her guiltily. ‘I have to see Mrs Dulciman,’ he said. Mildred bit her lip. ‘You can’t, she’s in hospital.’ Davies’ face clouded. ‘Oh … I didn’t know …’

  ‘She’s all right. She’ll probably be back next week. Every now and then they take her in.’

  ‘I’ll go and see her.’

  ‘We’re going for our walk this afternoon,’ Mildred repeated. ‘You promised. I’ve got the time off. You can see Mrs Dulciman this evening.’

  He smiled at her, a child anxious for a treat. ‘Right, that’s fixed then,’ he said.

  ‘Have you brought your car?’

  ‘Er … no.’ He shook his head. ‘I didn’t think it could manage a second journey.’

  ‘Don’t worry, there’s a bus from right outside.’ She looked at her watch, tiny on a broad wrist. ‘We could catch the two o’clock. The forecast is fine, rain later.’

  Bertie, the porter, ambled into the lobby and made towards his cubicle like an old dog making for a familiar kennel. ‘Oh hello sir,’ he said when he saw Davies. ‘You’re back then.’

  ‘Is the bar open?’ asked Davies craning around the lounge door.

  ‘She’s away sick,’ said Bertie. ‘But I’ll open up. Sorry about Zodiac and Inquirer. At least Inquirer was third.’

  ‘We should both know better,’ Davies said patting his arm. As he walked from the lobby he said to Mildred: ‘I’ll be there at two.’

  ‘It’s a bit of a climb,’ she said.

  ‘I think she was warning me not to have too much beer,’ said Davies when Bertie had gone behind the bar.

  ‘It’s quite a way,’ Bertie confirmed. Davies ordered a scotch. Bertie said he would have a beer because he was not climbing. ‘I can’t understand why she goes up there. Something to do with that boyfriend she had, I suppose. The little soldier.’

  ‘Was he little?’

  ‘Undersized. Goodness knows how he got into the army. He was in the medics though. They probably take them a bit shorter and thinner.’ He paused and then added cautiously: ‘It’s all Ministry of Defence up there, you know sir. Officially closed to the public. Some of the villages have been unoccupied since the war. They just use them for manoeuvres. You can hear the guns going off sometimes even from here.’

  ‘Mildred seems to think it’s safe,’ Davies said uncertainly.

  ‘Oh, I expect it is. She goes up there regular. She’s a funny girl.’

  Davies leaned a little closer over the bar. ‘Bertie,’ he said. ‘You remember when you told me about Mr Dulciman’s shoes, how that lad found them on the beach and brought them up to you?’

  ‘And I took them to the police. Yes sir.’

  ‘There is no way you can recall the boy’s name is there? Or anything about him.’

  Bertie looked puzzled and doubtful. ‘None at all, sir. It was five years ago, wasn’t it. He was just a lad. I can’t remember anything about him. I took the shoes from him but I didn’t get his name. I didn’t think to. After I realised they belonged to Mr Dulciman, I took them to Mrs Dulciman and she said to take them to the police. They asked me the boy’s name but I said I didn’t know.’

  Davies said he would have a sandwich. He ate moodily, then took his bag upstairs and arrived back in the lobby at five to two. Mildred was already waiting. She wore a large pair of jeans, a green sweater with a roll neck and a drab brown anorak. Her face was round and pretty like a pleased Eskimo.

  ‘I’m gl
ad you’ve brought your mac,’ she said as they walked to the bus stop. ‘It’s almost khaki. That’s why I wear these colours. You can’t be spotted from a distance.’

  ‘I feel as though I’m going on a commando raid,’ grimaced Davies.

  She laughed and gave him a push. ‘It’s all right. It’s not dangerous, Dangerous.’

  The bus arrived and they boarded it and went on the top deck. As they travelled she provided a commentary. They went along the sea, up into the town and, eventually, out into the Dorset countryside, to villages and heathland and a distant prospect of the English Channel lying in the cradles between low hills. She put her arm into his and wriggled. ‘I’m enjoying this,’ she said. ‘I’ve been looking forward to it all week.’

  ‘You like company,’ Davies told her. ‘I don’t understand why you don’t mix with younger people.’

  ‘I told you before, they’re all students or on the dole, and I don’t have anything in common with any of them. And the staff in the hotels are always shifting jobs and they work funny hours. And Alfie dying like that, it really put me off.’

  After thirty minutes they came to a hamlet with a pub, a few cottages and a telephone box. ‘This is it.’ She tugged his arm. They clambered heavily down the stairs. The bus drove away leaving them in the middle of the deserted place. She strode off between the pub and the telephone box. ‘Come on, it’s this way.’

  There was only room for him to follow behind her. At the end of the lane was a notice, black letters on a white ground with a red and grinning skull at its centre. ‘Keep Out!’ it ordered. ‘Danger of DEATH.’

  ‘That seems pretty clear,’ muttered Davies.

  ‘It’s nothing. There’s another up here. But I know a way,’ she said.

  They climbed a stile which had barbed wire across its horizontals. Davies looked at the palms of his hands. ‘Keep close to the side of this field,’ she advised from just ahead of him. ‘As near to the hedge as you can.’

  He frowned across the ploughed field. ‘It’s a minefield, don’t tell me,’ he said.

  ‘No. The minefields are over there. Just beyond those trees. We can dodge them. See along here …’ She pointed ahead. ‘This is where they’ve been shelling. See the craters.’

  Davies swallowed and kept close behind her. They reached a clearing and she stood upright from her crouch. ‘It’s all right from here,’ she smiled. The sun was glistening on her round face. He was sweating down his neck. ‘It’s up there,’ she said pointing. ‘See at the top of the hill. That’s where we’re going.’

  Panting and stumbling he followed her to the summit where they almost fell on top of each other on the warm grass. Still fighting for breath she rolled sideways and ended sitting up on a green ridge. Regaining his breath he straightened and sat beside her. ‘There,’ she exclaimed throwing out her arms. ‘Look at that view! Did you ever see anything so beautiful?’

  The green land fell away to the hedged fields below and then over another rise to the bright crinkled sea. Below one side of the ridge, only part of it visible, was a stone hamlet with a church tower. A soft wind brushed across the landscape.

  ‘See the village,’ said Mildred. ‘Nobody’s lived there for fifty years. It’s just empty, used by the army.’ Her eyes surveyed it carefully. ‘Alfie knew how to get into the houses. Once we went into the church and pretended we were getting married.’ She frowned. ‘Actually he was married already but I didn’t know that then.’

  ‘When did you know?’ asked Davies.

  ‘When he was dead,’ she mumbled. ‘I didn’t find out until then. Her name was Georgina. I was so shocked and miserable, Dangerous. He never let on and I couldn’t understand that. Married. But I’m sure he liked me best.’

  He thought she was going to cry and he put out his hand awkwardly to pat her. ‘We had a house in the village,’ she said pointing at the roofs. ‘We used to play at it being our house. It had a bed and everything. Alfie knew when it was safe although once …’ She giggled sadly. ‘Once we were in bed there and we heard some soldiers and some shooting. We didn’t half move, Dangerous, I can tell you.’ Again she nodded towards the settlement. ‘Our house is still down there, just like it was. I went and had a look one day.’

  ‘You ought to be a bit more careful about coming up here,’ he suggested. ‘The army might start an unscheduled battle and what would you do then?’

  ‘Scream, I suppose,’ she answered smiling tightly. ‘But I love it up here. I got the whole country to myself. Just me and the wind.’

  ‘We ought to go soon,’ he told her. ‘It’s getting cold.’

  ‘It’s getting a bit dark too,’ she agreed. ‘All right.’ She turned to face him. ‘Will you just kiss me, Dangerous. Just once.’

  He was about to say something but her plump, pretty face came close to him. The wind was blowing her hair forwards over her forehead. He leaned towards her and kissed her on the lips. ‘Is that all right?’ he asked unhappily. ‘That’ll do,’ she said. She stood up and pushed her hair back. ‘For the time being.’

  Davies never felt comfortable carrying flowers but it was a change to go to a hospital to visit someone else. He cruised through the various corridors and past the entrances to wards, with the aplomb of a veteran.

  Mrs Dulciman was pleased to see him. She was sitting brightly in bed wearing a lacy cape around her nightdress. ‘Still on the trail, Mr Davies?’

  ‘I certainly am,’ he assured her. He looked around for somewhere to put the flowers and a nurse appeared and took them from him.

  ‘Tell me all about it,’ said Mrs Dulciman. ‘I’m feeling much better. I’m not going to pop off yet. But if you wish I would be more than willing to honour my original suggestion and pay half the fee to you now.’

  Davies held up a refusing hand. ‘When I’ve done will be the time,’ he said. ‘I’m enjoying it.’

  She smiled mischievously. ‘Moonlighting becomes you. There was once a song like that.’

  ‘It’s a nice change from walking the London streets knocking on doors, showing people photographs,’ he said.

  ‘What’s that for, Dangerous?’

  ‘A murder. We have a body but we haven’t a clue, not as far as I know. The top brass may have but they don’t confide in me. I just do the footwork.’

  She folded her hands across her chest. ‘Well, at least you have our case to yourself.’

  ‘I must ask you something,’ he said. ‘How did you come to choose Pengelly as your private investigator? He wasn’t a random choice was he?’

  ‘Oh no. Vernon knew him.’

  Davies stared at her. ‘He knew him?’

  ‘Yes. I don’t actually know how. But on two or three occasions when I went to the Moonlighters Club, I didn’t care for it very much so I did not go there often, only for special events when I could not avoid it … When I did go there I met Pengelly. Vernon knew him quite well, I think, although I don’t know how or why. When I needed to employ an investigator it was just natural that I went to him.’

  ‘So you knew he was a detective?’

  ‘Of sorts,’ she said a little scornfully. ‘But I did know. I suppose Vernon must have mentioned it.’

  Davies looked thoughtful. ‘Have I given you a clue?’ she asked eagerly.

  He smiled at her. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘But you’ve given me one or two ideas.’

  Eleven

  The Moonlighters Club was more crowded, with the everlasting sherry couple still in their corner. They greeted him with neatly raised glasses. Other members looked at him with the curiosity of regulars for newcomers. Phineas was at the bar and waggled his missing leg at him.

  They drank amiably. ‘You’re practically a resident,’ observed Phineas. ‘This place is like a desert island, once you’re here it’s difficult to get away. Like being shipwrecked.’

  ‘It’s busy tonight,’ mentioned Davies.

  Orville, the barman, leaned over confidingly. ‘There’s been a funeral today. It’s
always busy after a funeral.’

  ‘Mrs Sowerby,’ put in Phineas. ‘Ninety-two. She said she was seventy-five.’ He eyed Davies. ‘She knew your Mr Dulciman.’

  ‘Now you tell me.’

  ‘He did a bit of wheedling with her, so they say. Got some money out of her.’

  ‘He seems to have done the rounds of elderly ladies fairly efficiently.’ He inclined his head and his beer tankard towards Phineas. ‘Did you ever see him in here with a man called Pengelly, a younger chap?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ returned Phineas. He spoke over his shoulder to the barman. ‘We know Pengelly, don’t we …’

  The barman blew out his cheeks and said: ‘I’ll say.’

  ‘What do you think of him?’

  Phineas sniffed. He put his empty tankard on the bar. It was Davies’ round. Phineas said: ‘Shifty customer, I’d say. Reckons to be a detective.’

  Davies ran his eye over the members of the club. Some of them still wore the funeral black but others had been home and changed. The conversation was quite jolly. Ninety-two was a good age to live and to die. A few small toasts were raised to the memory of Mrs Sowerby but they were not demonstrative.

  ‘Did Pengelly know Dulciman closely, do you think?’ asked Davies.

  Phineas ruminated. ‘They certainly got together a bit. They drank in here and seemed to have a lot to talk about.’ He became thoughtful. ‘And once I remember seeing the pair of them in the gardens, across from the Royal Bath Hotel, sitting on a bench together. It was wintertime and I remember thinking it was a bit funny for them to be out like that. Then they saw me coming and they got up quick and went off in different directions. But it was them. I might only have one good leg left but I’ve got two good eyes.’

  ‘You’ve never heard what their association might have been?’ suggested Davies.

  ‘No. Just business,’ said Phineas. ‘I don’t know what sort.’

  Davies wandered over and looked again at the snapshots on the wall. One of the sherry drinkers stood up and, to his surprise, came over to stand at his shoulder. ‘Those were the days,’ said the man. He pointed to one photograph. ‘That’s Mrs Sowerby that we saw away today. Before she went potty.’