The Complete Dangerous Davies

by Leslie Thomas

  ‘Yes, because, you see, he vanished.’

  ‘He did?’

  ‘I got up in the middle of the night after I had pushed him and he tumbled down, and I went to the bottom of the stairs in my dressing-gown and he wasn’t to be seen. That’s when I thought he might have got up and walked away, which would be typical, he was always lucky, and made his exit from our life. To the Rock Hotel, Gibraltar.’ She tutted quite firmly.

  ‘The last you saw he was lying at the foot of the stairs,’ prompted Davies.

  She shook her head weakly. He said: ‘Don’t distress yourself. You mustn’t get upset.’

  She smiled gratefully at him. ‘I’m not going yet, Dangerous,’ she said. ‘I heard them say I’ve got hours.’

  He patted her hand gently. ‘You’ll come through, you see.’

  ‘I don’t think so, not this time. But I did not see him at the foot of the stairs. I had given him a shove and went back into the room as quickly as I could. I was so angry. As I say, I did not go out there again for several hours. And then he had gone.’

  ‘What made you push him?’ asked. Davies soberly. ‘Then?’

  ‘Anger, pure and simple. It was what they call the last straw. He came back that night and had been drinking and was so unpleasant, boorish, I cannot tell you. I was used to such behaviour but this time he was particularly nasty.’ She began to cry softly again. Davies tried to comfort her. ‘I’m not terribly sensitive, Dangerous …’

  Her voice dropped to a hardly discernible whisper. ‘… I was, as I have told you, a model for certain photographs years ago, so I’m not too sensitive, but he was so dreadful. He snatched the bracelet that he had bought me at Asprey’s. He said he had to have the money. And when I tried to stop him he pushed me against the wall and … and … he called me old. He said “old” as an insult. “You are old,” he said. “Old, old. Get out of my way!”’

  Davies shook his head. She was crying fully now and he tried to comfort her. ‘To say that to me, after all that time. Old. What a dreadful thing.’ She snivelled and found a lace handkerchief. He put his hand out to help her. She gave him the handkerchief and he wiped her tears. She blew her own nose. ‘He stormed out of the door,’ she whispered, ‘and shouted back at me again: “You’re old!” Oh … I simply could not restrain myself. I followed him onto the landing and pushed him from behind. As hard as I could. He went flying, head over heels, down the stairs. Bouncing and bumping. He did not utter a sound. And I went quietly back into the room and closed the door. I really thought I had done for him, murdered him. But he must have recovered and simply got up and walked away leaving me to worry and wonder for all these years. That would be typical of him.’ She paused. ‘I disposed of all his papers, or as many as I could find. I couldn’t find his passport. I’m sorry I misled you, Dangerous. You are a wonderful man. But I had to find out. Now I know.’

  She closed her eyes and once more he thought it was for the last time. He was half-way to the door, hurrying on tiptoe, to fetch the doctor, when she called from the bed. ‘Dangerous … my solicitors, Geary & Co., of Poole, have a sealed envelope in their hands. They will send it to you very shortly. Goodbye Dangerous Davies, and thank you.’

  ‘Is she dead?’ Mildred never resisted melodrama. She was sitting, still in her purloined clothes, in the reception area of the hospital, regarded suspiciously by the receptionist.

  ‘No,’ returned Davies. ‘But it won’t be long.’

  Her face worked a little. There was whisky on her breath. ‘Poor Mrs Dulciman,’ she sighed. ‘All her troubles will be over soon.’ She stood up. ‘I followed you but she wouldn’t let me come up.’ Mildred nodded at the receptionist who gave her a hard look before smiling at Davies. ‘She fancies you, Dangerous,’ said Mildred.

  ‘Let’s be on our way,’ said Davies as patiently as he could. He took her elbow and led her out of the hospital. ‘Leave the booze alone,’ he said.

  ‘I needed something after all that drama this morning,’ she shrugged. ‘It’s a wonder you didn’t.’

  ‘There were things I had to do,’ he said pointedly. They were walking along an avenue of heavy trees going towards the sea. The trees were light green with new leaves. ‘Mrs Dulciman’, he said in a level voice, ‘told me that she pushed her husband down the stairs at the hotel.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Mildred in a tone that suggested he should have known that from the start. ‘I saw her do it. Me and Alfie.’

  There was a bench at the end of the avenue overlooking a clifftop green. To it was fixed a plaque: ‘In Memory of John Wild. For rest and contemplation.’ Davies took her arm and led her to the seat. They sat down facing the sea stretched like satin. ‘You saw her do it?’ he echoed.

  ‘That’s right. Naturally I’ve never told anybody. Alfie and I swore never to. We heard this commotion when we were creeping from my room and we waited in the corridor. Then I peeped around and saw Mr Dulciman at the top of the stairs and Mrs Dulciman came from her door and stood there and just shoved him.’ Mildred made a pushing motion with her hands. ‘And he went tumbling off down the stairs.’ She blew out her big cheeks. ‘That’s twice that’s happened to me, Dangerous. I told you before, didn’t I, about how I saw my mother give my old man a push in the same way. I’ve seen two murders the same and I’m still only twenty-five.’

  He made no attempt to work out the logic of the remark. ‘And then what happened?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, I’m a mad hatter as you know and Alfie, even though he wasn’t that big for a soldier, he was really crazy. We both liked Mrs Dulciman and I hated, hated, with all my heart, that Mr Dulciman, for the reasons I told you. The nude photographs he took of me and that magazine. Big Fat Girls.’ She almost spat out the title. ‘The lousy swine.’ She regarded Davies, her cheeks streaked and smudged like those of a child. ‘I never told Alfie about the photographs, of course, because he would have killed Dulciman there and then. Remember Alfie was in the Medical Corps. He could have poisoned him.’

  ‘So then you and Alfie decided to dispose of Dulciman’s body?’ Davies prompted.

  ‘That’s right. We felt it was the least we could do. We wanted to help the old lady and I was getting my own revenge as well. He was stone dead when he got to the bottom of the stairs and she had gone back into her room. Alfie knew right away. There was nobody about, those are the back stairs of course, and it was late. So we lugged him outside and put him in Alfie’s Metro. It was a bit of a squeeze but we jammed him in somehow.’ She giggled. ‘It was a bit funny really. Alfie loved it. He liked a bit of a lark and he didn’t give a damn what he did.’

  ‘I can see that,’ said Davies. ‘And you took him out to the military area and dropped him into one of the shell craters.’

  ‘Just like I told you. That wasn’t easy but Alfie found a wheelbarrow in one of the gardens, it might have even been that house where we got these togs. There was nobody around so we wheeled Mr Dulciman up the lane, got him over the stile, and that was a job, we couldn’t stop laughing. And, like I told you, we put him in the crater and shovelled a few spadefuls of earth over him. Enough to cover him. The army bulldozer regularly fills up those holes and that was what it did.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘What I could never understand was why Mrs Dulciman asked you to find out what happened? After all she pushed him.’

  Davies said: ‘She did not know whether she had killed him. All she knew was that she pushed him down the stairs. Then he vanished. I told her a few minutes ago that he survived and cleared off to Gibraltar, for ever.’

  ‘Why Gibraltar?’

  ‘That’s where they used to go.’

  ‘You knew that?’

  ‘I saw a suitcase, an old one, with their names on the label, Mr and Mrs Vernon Dulciman. The Rock Hotel, Gibraltar. I knew they’d been there but I didn’t know how many times. Anyway she will die thinking he escaped.’

  ‘Brilliant,’ she said. ‘That’s bloody brilliant. You are.’

  She kissed him earnestl
y, her breath still laden with scotch. ‘And now what happens?’ she asked. She smiled raggedly at him. ‘Are you going to arrest me, or hand me over to the police, or something?’

  ‘Mildred, you’ve got to get away from here,’ he said seriously. ‘You’ve got to straighten your life out.’

  ‘You’re not going to tell on me?’

  ‘No.’

  She giggled hugely. ‘I knew you wouldn’t,’ she said. ‘I’m going to Greece for the summer. I’ve got enough saved and I might get a job out there. In a cantina or whatever they have, a taverna. Sun and wine and virile men.’

  ‘That should keep you out of trouble,’ he said doubtfully. He rose from the bench and she held onto his arm while they walked along the cliff path towards the road again. ‘What about the shoes?’ he said. ‘Dulciman’s shoes found on the beach? I suppose you planted them, got that lad to take them up to Bertie, so that it might indicate that Dulciman had gone into the sea.’

  ‘You’re a good detective, Dangerous.’

  ‘I keep trying.’

  He plodded up the hill for the final time to say his farewells at the Moonlighters Club. To his surprise Phineas was propped up at the bar conversing with Pengelly. Pengelly was wagging his finger. Davies regarded the pair quizzically. ‘Mrs Dulciman has died,’ he announced.

  ‘So none of it matters,’ said Pengelly.

  Davies remembered the old lady had said the same: not much matters and in the end nothing matters at all. He sighed. ‘Not now.’

  ‘I’ll buy you a drink,’ said Pengelly. ‘You probably need one.’

  Davies said he would have a scotch. He wondered what they were doing together. Pengelly provided the answer as he raised his glass. ‘Here’s to Eventide Enterprises,’ he toasted.

  ‘Eventide Enterprises,’ echoed Phineas less convincingly.

  ‘Eventide Enterprises,’ repeated Davies. He looked from one to the other. ‘Whatever they may be.’ He put his glass down. ‘What are they, by the way?’

  ‘My new business,’ Pengelly told him. ‘Phineas here is going to be my chief executive.’ Davies glanced at Phineas who shrugged. ‘I came to thinking’, continued Pengelly, ‘that there’s a mass of untapped talent, resources, and money in this town, all of it possessed by older people, retired people. My intention is to form an organisation, a network of organisations, to tap those resources.’

  ‘Right up your street, tapping resources,’ said Davies evenly.

  ‘Give me a chance,’ said Pengelly in an injured tone. ‘I’ve converted my offices and we will be operating from there. We will have a share issue …’

  ‘I thought you might.’

  ‘It has to be capitalised.’

  ‘What will be the area of activity?’

  ‘Areas of activities,’ corrected Pengelly. ‘They’ll be widespread. Marketing, outings, all sorts of things.’

  ‘Marketing and outings,’ ruminated Davies.

  ‘Holidays,’ said Phineas not to be left behind. ‘Holidays for the elderly.’

  ‘Not putting them on coaches and whizzing them around Europe so they can stare out of the windows,’ put in Pengelly quickly as though to keep Phineas quiet. ‘Old people can still have fun. Participation. They want to achieve something – apart from old age. I want to stir up feelings of adventure in seventy-plus year olds.’

  ‘Bungee jumping,’ suggested Davies.

  ‘You’re being negative,’ muttered Pengelly. ‘My aim is to mobilise the potential of the elderly, physical, emotional and financial, and give everyone something to work for, something they can look forward to.’ His face straightened dramatically. ‘Apart from death.’

  ‘We’ve already sounded out people,’ said Phineas. ‘Mrs Cloudsley-Clive for one. The energy that woman wastes hitting bread to seagulls.’

  ‘The seagulls would disagree,’ said Davies.

  On cue Nola Cloudsley-Clive appeared in the doorway. She advanced and greeted Davies before turning to Pengelly. ‘One of our first endeavours will be to renovate the ladies’ room for these premises,’ she affirmed. ‘I’ve been locked in for ten minutes.’

  Davies told her that Mrs Dulciman had died that morning. She stood, oddly, in silence, her head bowed, for an exact minute. Then looked up and smiled. ‘There,’ she breathed with a sort of relief. She glanced at Davies again. ‘Mr Pengelly has told you of our plans, I take it?’ she enthused. ‘At last there will be some purpose in life, apart from feeding gulls and ducks.’

  Davies watched helplessly while Pengelly treated her to a fond smile and said to Davies: ‘We thought we would call the Eventide Enterprises travel section “Golden Years Holidays”.’

  ‘These, after all,’ said Phineas ponderously, ‘are the golden years.’

  Mrs Cloudsley-Clive fixed him with a look. ‘Bugger the golden years,’ she said.

  The Babe In Arms was crowded for a lunchtime. Detective Superintendent Harvey and other senior officers had come from the magistrates court where they had seen the man known as Russian Mike committed for trial charged with the murder of Julie Willis, aged sixteen. Davies watched them ordering scotches at the far end of the bar. Harvey spotted him and beckoned him over. ‘I won’t be a minute,’ Davies said to Mod. ‘I’d just like to hear this.’

  Harvey put a well-fed arm about Davies. ‘Well, Russian Mike is on his way,’ he affirmed. ‘The bastard. He won’t do that again.’

  ‘I should hope not,’ said Davies, searching for something to say. Harvey bought him a scotch and he stood silently in the group while they congratulated themselves. The Detective Superintendent leaned chummily towards Davies and whispered, ‘It’s a big feather in my cap, of course, Davies, nicking him. But I think everybody deserves some credit.’

  ‘So do I,’ said Davies. He excused himself and went back to Mod. The policemen eventually left with laughter and much back-slapping. He waved to them as they went out. ‘You gave them the clue,’ muttered Mod. ‘Lot of credit you get.’

  Davies drank reflectively. ‘But I solved the case I wanted to solve,’ he said.

  ‘When do you think you’ll be getting your fee?’ asked Mod carefully.

  ‘I had a call yesterday from Mrs Dulciman’s solicitors. They wanted to check my address.’

  ‘My giro didn’t arrive this morning,’ grumbled Mod.

  Minnie Banks said: ‘My Teachers World didn’t come today.’

  Mrs Fulljames put the tureen on the table. ‘They promised to send me the shrub catalogue. Promised it right away. I thought some new shrubs might cheer up the garden. But for some reason …’

  Sick at heart Davies rose slowly from the table. Astonished they watched him walk like a robot into the kitchen. He stood staring from the window. ‘Did anybody get any post this morning?’ he asked without turning.

  ‘There wasn’t any,’ said Mrs Fulljames. ‘There was nothing on the mat.’

  From his position at the kitchen window Davies could see the low glow of the garden bonfire. ‘Elvis …’ he muttered. ‘That Elvis …’

  ‘Whatever …?’ exclaimed Mrs Fulljames as he wrenched open the door from the kitchen to the garden.

  ‘He’s gone mad,’ said Doris with satisfaction. ‘I always knew he would.’

  Davies plunged into the garden. The fire was low, glowering. Little more than ashes. Elvis was lurking in the evening shadows by the fence. The other residents of Bali Hi grouped by the kitchen door. ‘Whatever’s going on?’ called Mrs Fulljames.

  ‘Son,’ said Davies as calmly as he could to the youth, ‘what have you been putting on this fire?’

  He knew a guilty look when he saw one. ‘Bits and pieces,’ mumbled Elvis. ‘You can’t get stuff see … you ’ave to find it …’

  Grimly Davies advanced on him. ‘Letters?’ he demanded. ‘Did you put this morning’s letters on there?’

  Elvis backed away. ‘No … no … I didn’t.’

  The party from the house was slowly advancing down the garden, keeping together as though for mu
tual protection. Davies turned and strode to the fire. He kicked at the ashes. ‘I’m sorry!’ wailed Elvis from the fence. ‘They was just lying on the mat. The door was open. I didn’t think they was anybody’s!’

  It was getting dark. Davies, with Jemma’s arm about him, went slowly into the yard, Kitty’s food dish sagging disconsolately in his hand. ‘I still can’t believe it,’ he mumbled. ‘Five thousand quid up in sodding smoke.’

  Jemma said without much hope: ‘Maybe it was delayed. It may come tomorrow.’

  ‘I got the man at home,’ he repeated firmly. ‘He said Mrs Dulciman’s sealed envelope had been addressed and sent off yesterday morning. Express.’

  ‘And there’s nothing they can do? Nothing to replace it?’

  Miserably he told her again. ‘The solicitors didn’t even know what was in the envelope. It was sealed up with my name on it. They won’t hand out five thousand quid on my word. I could kill that dumbhead Elvis.’

  ‘And the cheque stub is no help?’

  ‘The man went from his home back to his office. He has Mrs Dulciman’s chequebook. She hardly ever filled in the stub. And she did not in this case.’

  He stumbled towards the garage. Kitty, hearing his approach began to howl. Jemma turned Davies towards her and, with the dog’s bowl jammed between them they hugged each other, he using one arm. He lifted his head and surveyed the bleak enclosing walls, the early glimmering street lamp, the broken cobbles.

  ‘Dangerous Davies of the Yard,’ he muttered.

  Jemma began to laugh and he looked into her face and began to laugh too. They stood laughing wildly and holding each other while Kitty howled for his dinner.