The Weeping Women (The Mac Maguire detective mysteries Book 3)

by Patrick C Walsh

  He’d almost begun to wish his dad had never taken him to Villa Park when he was a kid. Then he remembered the excitement of those Saturday afternoons nearly five decades ago. Him holding his dad’s hand tightly as he steered them safely through the swirling crowds converging on the football stadium. Bovril and corned beef sandwiches at half-time and the odd victory of course. He quickly withdrew his wish but still couldn’t help feeling utterly frustrated when it came to his favourite team.

  As he made some coffee he thought about the case. This didn’t make him any less frustrated though. Mac was at heart a great believer in there being reason and logic behind everything, even if sometimes the logic might be more than a little warped. He just couldn’t see any logic in this case yet, warped or not. Although it was Sunday he wondered if there was something he could do to push the case forward, even if only by an inch or two. He suddenly remembered something, a question they hadn’t asked.

  At the hospital Mrs. Westwood was more than happy to be interviewed again.

  ‘I do love having a chat. I must say that the nurses and that are lovely here but they don’t always have time for much of a chat do they? Anyway it’s Sunday isn’t it? I hope they’re paying you overtime.’

  Mac assured her that they did.

  ‘I was just wondering if you’d remembered anything else since we last talked?’

  She gave this some serious thought.

  ‘Well, yes I think I did remember something but, as I said before, it all seems a bit like a dream now.’

  ‘What did you remember?’ Mac asked, hoping for even the shadow of a lead.

  ‘I think he said something just before he touched my wrist.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well as I said I’m not sure but I think he said ‘Hockey’.’

  ‘Hockey? Are you sure? Just that word,’ Mac said giving her a puzzled look.

  ‘No, I’m not sure at all dear if I’m honest. Who knows, maybe I dreamt it.’

  ‘How’s your hearing?’

  ‘Not bad, I had it tested not too long ago. They said I had the hearing of a forty year old,’ she said giving him a bright smile.

  Mac gave this some thought and then remembered the question he’d come to ask.

  ‘Do you know anyone with the surname Foskett, Llewellyn-fforbes, Pegram, Pratt or Wells?’ he asked.

  ‘Sorry dear, could you say them again but a bit slower this time?’

  He did.

  ‘Well I do know a Wells, Colin Wells. He’s my nephew. He was in not long ago with my son.’

  ‘That’s the Colin Wells who’s a builder and lives in Baldock?’

  ‘Yes that’s him dear, lovely man. He’s collecting Easter eggs you know, for the little children in hospital.’

  At her insistence Mac stayed for a while she told him all about Colin and the rest of her family. It took well over half an hour before a nurse came to take her blood pressure thus allowing Mac to escape gracefully.

  Mac sat in the car for a while and thought over what he’d learnt. There was a real connection between at least two of the victims but Mac was doubtful as to its importance. In such a relatively small place if you picked six people at random it wouldn’t be unlikely to find that some of them knew each other. It was the word that bothered him more.

  Hockey.

  What on earth did it mean?

  He looked at his watch. It was now nearly one. Tim was off once again doing his rounds of the local markets. Mac would hear all about the bargains he’d bought tonight. What to do in the meantime though?

  Although the connection was probably just a co-incidence Mac thought he might as well follow it up. In the back of his mind he also wanted to have a chat with Mrs. Wells without her husband being around. He had an idea that there was something she didn’t say last time they’d spoken.

  Mrs. Wells opened the door. She informed him that Mr. Wells was out.

  ‘That’s okay,’ Mac said, more than happy to find that she was alone. ‘This will only take a minute.’

  She invited him into the living room. The pile of Easter eggs had grown and took up at least half of the room. She saw Mac looking at the pile of confectionery.

  ‘We normally worry that we won’t have enough eggs to go around. Now we’re worrying that we won’t have enough children,’ she said with a wry smile.

  ‘Have you remembered anything since we last spoke?’ Mac asked.

  She shook her head.

  ‘Are you sure there’s not something you haven’t mentioned? Even if it’s something that seems really trivial it could turn out to be important.’

  She gave it some more though and shook her head again.

  ‘No sorry, there’s nothing.’

  ‘Nothing?’

  She shook her head with total certitude.

  Mac felt somewhat deflated. He’d been so sure.

  ‘Well apart from one of my photos having been moved that is.’

  Mac’s heart almost skipped a beat. Could this be a real clue at last?

  ‘Show me,’ he said.

  ‘Here on the sideboard,’ she said, pointing to a group of framed photos.

  ‘Are you sure one of them was moved by the burglar?’

  ‘Must have been, I didn’t move it and Colin knows better than to touch my pictures. I always have them in the same order see. First my grandad, that’s him in his army uniform, then my mom and dad, then Colin’s mom and dad and lastly our niece Mandy.’

  ‘And what exactly was moved?’

  ‘My grandad’s picture was moved. It was more or less in the same place but it was at a bit of a different angle, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’ Mac asked.

  ‘Because it caught the light from the window when I looked at it from where I sit. I couldn’t see the photo at all with the reflection from the window. I always have them positioned so I can see them from where I sit.’

  She pointed to an armchair. Mac thanked her silently for being so pedantic.

  ‘When the forensics people were here, did they fingerprint the photo frames?’

  ‘I don’t think so dear. I only found out it had been moved after everyone had gone and I could finally sit down and relax.’

  ‘Have you cleaned the frames since then?’ Mac asked, hoping against hope that she hadn’t and that the thief might have gotten careless at last.

  ‘Oh yes of course, I clean them every other day. The dust gets on them otherwise.’

  Mac inwardly sighed. He went over and picked up the photo frame. It showed a young man with black slicked back hair. He was in a World War Two army uniform, had a lit cigarette in his hand and was smiling brightly. For some reason Mac had the feeling that it had been taken before he’d gone off to war. Perhaps the smile was a little too bright.

  ‘Can you tell me about your grandfather?’ he asked, sitting down again.

  ‘Well grandad Ronald was in the Army. He served abroad somewhere. I remember when I was kid hearing someone talking about their holidays in Spain and how nice it was going to a warm country. Grandad said they could keep their warm countries, he’d had more than enough of them during the war.’

  ‘What regiment was he in?’

  ‘I’m not sure if I’m honest,’ she said shrugging her shoulders.

  He remembered the photos of other men in uniform that he’d seen in some of the other victim’s houses. He found that Mrs. Wells’ grandfather interested him.

  ‘Is there someone who’d know a bit more about your grandfather’s time in the army?’

  ‘You’d need to speak to my Aunty Pat. If anyone would know, she would. She’s not far off eighty but she’s still as sharp as a pin. She lives in a home just down the road. I’ll come with you if you like, I haven’t seen her for a couple of days so a visit would be nice.’

  She guided Mac and in less than a minute they pulled up outside the Convent Court retirement home.

  Mrs. Wells waved at a woman manning the reception desk who pre
ssed a buzzer to open the door. It was very warm inside and smelt of air freshener and urine. Mrs. Wells led them into a rickety lift that took its time to get to the floor above.

  ‘She’ll be in the lounge with the rest of them. She likes a good chat does Aunty Pat.’

  She was right. Her aunt was one of a gaggle of elderly women seated in armchairs around a very large TV screen. She was a large woman and also slightly deaf. Mac asked his questions and Mrs. Wells acted as interpreter saying it loudly so her aunt could hear.

  ‘He’s a polite man dear, is that what you’re saying dear?’ Aunt Pat asked.

  It took a few minutes for her to get the drift. Mac fed the first question to Mrs. Wells.

  ‘Your dad, what regiment did he serve in during the war?’

  ‘Now let me think,’ Aunt Pat said. ‘Oh yes it was the Hertfordshire Regiment of course. He was in the ‘Letchworth Pals’, they were all from around here.’

  ‘Where did he serve?’ Mrs. Wells said even more loudly.

  A number of the inmates were already giving her dirty looks.

  ‘Oh all over. He started in North Africa with Monty.’

  ‘Where did he go after North Africa?’ Mac asked.

  She seemed to be hearing him okay now.

  ‘Well, let’s see. Yes that’s right more warm countries he said. He really didn’t like warm countries. I remember him saying that the best thing that ever happened to him when he was in uniform was when he got back to England. He got caught in the rain as they left the plane and he said it was the most refreshing feeling he’d ever had in his life. He knew he was back home then see, because of the rain.’

  Mac looked at her and she eventually remembered that he’d asked a question.

  ‘Oh sorry, silly me! So yes after North Africa he went to Italy but he wasn’t there long. He got whisked off to Greece along with all the other Letchworth Pals. They were there for nearly four years.’

  Mac felt his heart speeding up.

  ‘Greece? Why Greece?’ he asked.

  Aunty Pat screwed her face up with thought.

  ‘Yes, I think it was because their Captain could speak Greek, well old time Greek I think it was, but granddad said the Captain picked the language up in a few weeks and, while he got to learn a bit, he said he never really got the hang of it like the Captain did.’

  Another question occurred to Mac.

  ‘He was there for four years? That means he must have been there until well after the war ended.’

  ‘Oh yes he was there until the middle of 1947 but God knows why. I remember asking once what he did in Greece but he wouldn’t answer. He said it was something he’d spent his life trying to forget or something along those lines.’

  ‘What was your father’s name?’

  ‘Ronald Thompson. He was a sergeant when he came out. I saw his uniform once. Mom showed it to me and it had three stripes on the arms.’

  For some reason Mac felt he was on to something.

  ‘Your father really never said anything about his time in Greece?’

  She thought for a while.

  ‘Strange isn’t it? He was there for years but he never said anything about it to any of us. I think something happened there, something that made him a bit sad. I’m really sorry but I haven’t a clue what it might have been.’

  While he drove Mrs. Wells back he asked her about Doris Westwood.

  ‘Oh yes poor Aunty Doris. We went to see her this morning and she does look a sight. Still smiling though, God bless her.’

  ‘We think that the person who broke into her house is the same one who broke into yours.’

  Her eyes widened.

  ‘Really? Now there’s a surprise. He saved her life though the burglar, at least that’s what Aunty Doris says.’

  ‘Yes it certainly looks like that. Is there any reason you can think of why the burglar might have picked you and your aunt?’ Mac asked.

  ‘No idea, we’re not exactly millionaires either of us, are we? Anyway I’m glad he broke into Aunty Doris’s, she’s one of my favourite relatives.’

  Mac thought about what he’d been told as he drove back. Almost without thinking he found himself outside of Monty Llewellyn-fforbe’s house.

  His grand-daughter opened the door. She had blonde full length hair, an oval face and a naturally pale complexion. Mac thought that she was very pretty. He introduced himself.

  ‘Oh, you’re the detective!’ she said excitedly, her face breaking into a wide grin. ‘I’ve never met a detective before. I’m Helena. Come on I’ll take you to Monty, he’s in the billiard room.’

  From the size of the house Mac wasn’t surprised that it had a billiard room. He’d been to smaller leisure centres. However Monty wasn’t playing when Mac and Helena entered the room. The whole surface of the table was covered in photos.

  Monty cleared his throat before saying, ‘Mr. Maguire, I hope you’ve come to tell me that you’ve got the culprit and that he’s safely behind bars.’

  ‘I’m sorry but no. I’ve not found anything definite as yet.’

  ‘Nothing definite? Your three days are up today and, as I’m paying, I’d like to know exactly what you’ve found so far.’

  Mac had forgotten all about the three days.

  ‘You don’t have to worry about paying me, I’ve been working for the police on this case. There’ve been more break-ins reported in the area, break-ins that are very similar to yours. As I’m investigating them all it wouldn’t be fair to charge you.’

  Monty had a photograph in one hand and a pen in the other. Mac noticed some photographs face down in a pile that had been written on.

  ‘More break-ins? What’s in God’s name has happened to Letchworth? I remember when someone getting prosecuted for being a litter-bug would make the front page of the local papers and now it’s break-ins here, there and bloody everywhere.’

  As he spoke his face got red and Mac feared for the old man’s blood pressure.

  ‘Like you though nothing was stolen, apart from chocolate that is,’ Mac pointed out.

  ‘Still a bloody cheek though. So what do you think, was it some of those young layabouts with nothing to do that I see hanging around the Job Centre in town?’

  Mac noticed Helena looking up to the ceiling as he said this. She obviously didn’t agree with his sentiments.

  ‘No, it definitely wasn’t one of them. Whoever carried out the break-ins was a professional.’

  The old man stopped and placed the photograph and pen on the billiard table.

  ‘For God’s sake what would a professional thief be doing stealing chocolate?’

  ‘I think that was just a blind. I think he was really after information of some sort.’

  ‘Information? I thought everything in the world was out there on the bloody internet or whatever they call it.’

  ‘Not quite all,’ Mac replied. ‘Do you know anyone who was in the Hertfordshire Regiment during the war? The Second World War that is.’

  ‘Of course, my father was a Captain in the regiment during the war.’

  Monty scrabbled around amongst the photographs. He passed one to Mac.

  It was a small square photo and showed a man in his thirties in uniform. He was wearing shorts, long black socks, a short-sleeved shirt and a peaked cap. He was squinting into the sun. In the background Mac could see a small church. It was white-washed and had a tiled roof and a round tower with a cross on the top. It was obviously somewhere abroad, somewhere Mediterranean Mac guessed. He turned over the photo. In faded ink it said ‘Agiou Athiris 1946’.

  The man in the photo wasn’t smiling and, even in such a small photo, Mac could see that there was something about the man’s eyes. They had seen things. He looked very like Monty.

  ‘He was an Ancient Greek scholar, wasn’t he?’ Mac asked.

  He could see the look of surprise on Monty’s face.

  ‘Yes, he was a professor but how the devil could you know that?’

  ‘I spoke to the
grand-daughter of one of the ‘Letchworth Pals’. Her grandfather was Sergeant Ronald Thompson.’

  Monty stood still for a few seconds while he thought.

  ‘Yes, yes’, Monty said, a memory dawning on his face. ‘I remember. After the war, it might have been the early fifties I suppose, I was about fifteen or so and I remember my father talking about a Sergeant Ronnie Thompson. He’d met up with him and they’d gone for a drink or something. He didn’t say what they’d talked about, just that he was a ‘good man in a scrap’. Yes those were his exact words. It was about all he ever said to me about his time in Greece.’

  ‘He was there quite a while I believe,’ Mac said.

  ‘Yes I think he was there some years. He never mentioned the war much anyway but on the rare occasions he did it was always about North Africa or Italy never Greece for some reason.’

  ‘Apparently Ronald Thompson never said much about his time in Greece either. That’s quite strange, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes I suppose it is. I’ve often wondered what happened there.’

  Mac wondered if the same thought had occurred to Monty. Bad things happen in wars. It might have been seventy years ago but Mac couldn’t help wondering if the past was somehow coming back to haunt the Letchworth Pals.

  Chapter Seven

  Monday – six days before Easter

  Mac woke up early and was eager to get up and get on with things. At last he had a lead.

  His back pain was still there but thankfully it was no worse than normal. He felt quite rested as he’d had a quiet night in. Tim had been off again at some antiques market near Bath and hadn’t got home until late so Mac had just stayed in and watched some television. By luck there was series about the history of Ancient Greece on and Mac found it quite fascinating.

  His lead might be tenuous and he’d only connected two of the break-ins so far but he felt that he was on to something. However he was careful in not allowing himself to get too carried away with the thought. He knew he had a lot more digging to do before he could start making any firm theories about the case.