Deliver Us from Evil hay-20

by Peter Turnbull

  ‘And yours, Mr Hennessey. And yours.’ The man eagerly sipped the whisky. ‘You come to your humble and obedient servant this day as a ray of sunshine would come upon a dark place. I didn’t know how I was going to make that drink last and then you walked in the door. . a saviour to a man in need.’

  ‘Well, I may have need of you. . anyway I see you survived Her Majesty’s Prison, Shored-Up?’

  ‘Oh, Mr Hennessey, I tell you, HM hotels are getting rougher and rougher. So very rough. I had to share a cell with three others, and our cell was originally a cell designed for one, and they were all rough boys. . that terrible youth. .’ The man shuddered. ‘How I resent him.’

  ‘The one that dobbed you in?’

  ‘Yes, him. . that one. . who dobbed me in, as you say. No sense of honour.’

  ‘You would have done the same, Shored-Up, especially if it meant avoiding a spell inside. . which is what he avoided.’

  ‘How is a man to make a decent living? The dole goes nowhere. It wouldn’t keep a church mouse alive. . and I never harmed anyone. . I don’t do violence.’

  ‘Stealing elderly ladies’ Rolls Royces. .’

  ‘Yes, but not harming the ladies themselves and so lucrative. . a way of making a living.’

  ‘So criminal also.’ Hennessey cast an eye over the man’s clothing. Expensive at first glance, threadbare at the second and as always saying ‘charity shops’ very loudly at the third glance. The image of the ‘distressed gentleman’ came to Hennessey’s mind, usefully assisted by the man’s ‘gentlemanly’ manner, which had been honed over the years by observing the real thing. ‘So are you at it again?’

  The man shrugged. He delicately sipped the whisky Hennessey had bought him. ‘Chap has to earn his living. . there are no free rides.’

  ‘You’ve been out how long? Can’t be a full month yet?’

  ‘Three weeks tomorrow.’ The man smiled, ‘I confess that fresh air never did taste so sweet. Now I am settling into my nice new flat. I gave up the old one; or rather it gave up on me.’

  ‘Yes, I can imagine you’d have difficulty paying rent when you’re inside doing twelve to the inch.’

  ‘I had a little put by. I could have kept the flat going but paying rent on an empty flat, it went so much against the grain. Flats are easy to come by, and I quite like my new little drum. And I escaped the torture of sewing mailbags, opted for education, “good citizenship” in the main. Easier and anyway they don’t sew mailbags in the prisons any more. The GC class enabled me to sit and daydream; usually I carried myself off to a sun drenched and very faraway place.’

  ‘And now you are seeking another victim?’ Hennessey growled.

  ‘Client, Mr Hennessey, please. They are your humble servant’s clients.’

  ‘Clients,’ Hennessey sighed, ‘you mean a string of wealthy old ladies who seek male company of the manner that used to be enjoyed by them.’

  ‘Provide comfort and succour to those in need. . that’s what I do, Mr Hennessey.’

  ‘Living and dining with ladies who pick up the bill.’

  ‘And where is the crime in that, Mr Hennessey?’

  ‘None, none at all, not until you begin to tell them about the tin mine in Bolivia which could produce unheard-of riches and which needs some development money to get it into full production or the location of the treasure-laden ship which went down in a storm some centuries ago. . and would they like to invest in a little mining concern or a salvage venture with a guarantee of their money back plus at least fifty per cent? It’s then it becomes off side, very left field.’

  ‘But I am also of use to you, Mr Hennessey, am I not?. . great use.’

  ‘Which is why I am here.’ Hennessey glanced up at the frosted windows upon which was etched the legend ‘Sanders and Penn’s Fine Ales’, being a relic of the earlier days of The Speculation Inn when there was evidently a local brewery called ‘Sanders and Penn’.

  ‘Ah. .’ the man smiled. He drained his glass and pushed it across the highly polished, brass-topped table towards Hennessey.

  ‘Not so fast. Two nights ago a woman was found by the side of the canal. .’

  ‘I know,’ the man smiled.

  ‘You know? How? We haven’t released a press statement.’

  ‘Can’t keep a thing like that quiet, it’s not possible. The boys know, the boys in “the Den”; they know. Suspicious circumstances, the old jungle telegraph, the boys in the Den need to know things like that. . got to keep abreast of developments. Survival depends upon it.’

  Hennessey sighed. ‘I imagine, but the reason why I have called here in the hope of finding you “at home”, as it were, is because the deceased, the victim, was not as clean as the driven snow herself, so we are discovering, quite a naughty lady. In fact you two would have made a very good team, you fleecing old ladies and she fleecing her gentlemen employers. What a duo you would have made.’

  ‘Really?’ There was a glint in the man’s eyes. ‘Now you tell me.’

  ‘She was a Canadian.’

  ‘Not Becky?’ Shored-Up looked genuinely saddened. ‘You don’t mean Becky?’

  ‘You know her?’

  ‘Becky the Canadian, black hair but liked to wear a blonde wig?’

  ‘Yes, sounds like her,’ Hennessey groaned, ‘and Becky is yet another alias, Julia and Edith being two others. Doubtless there will be more.’

  ‘Well, this is a small town, Mr Hennessey, and the brothers and sisters all know each other. . she gave her name as Becky Lecointe.’

  Hennessey stood and walked to the serving hatch. He returned with another whisky and placed it in front of the man and said, ‘So, tell me what you know about Becky Lecointe.’

  ‘Well, she got to know the boys and girls in the Den.’

  ‘Being the taproom of The Mitre in Blossom Street?’

  ‘Might be. .’ The man picked up the glass of whisky and savoured the bouquet.

  ‘It is. . but carry on.’

  ‘Well, it explains why I drink in here at lunchtimes. I have to be discreet, you understand. It’s a long way from Blossom Street in York terms, and it also explains why sometimes I insist on meeting your good self out of town.’

  ‘I remember,’ Hennessey growled. ‘I can’t decide whether or not my abiding dislike for Rotherham is greater than my abiding dislike for Doncaster. . but thank you for introducing me to both towns. My life is enriched by the experiences of visiting both.’

  ‘Please,’ the man sipped his drink lovingly, ‘but it is necessary to be discreet, as I said. I play a dangerous game, Mr Hennessey, it’s part of the thrill and while we all will meet our maker I do not wish to bring that unique event upon me any sooner than I have to.’

  ‘That I can understand,’ and again pain ran deep within Hennessey’s chest, two shafts, one for Jennifer and one for Graham. ‘So. . in your own words. .’

  ‘The Canadian. . thief.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Selling jewellery she’d half inched. She got a better price for it in the Den than in the pawnbrokers. Folk only do that if it’s half inched. If it’s theirs and they want it back then they pawn it. But she was interested only in getting all the cash she could. So it was pinched. Also a few wallets.’

  ‘She dipped?’

  ‘Oh yes. . a woman’s touch you understand, more adept at getting inside a man’s inside pocket.’

  ‘Strange we never got to know her. . she must have been good. . in a criminal sense of the word.’

  ‘The Canadian police do.’

  ‘Do they?’

  ‘So she said. She was anxious to return to Canada, she was unhappy in the UK. Me, I wouldn’t want to live anywhere but the UK, dare say she feels the same way about Canada, or felt the same, I should say. Home being home. . wherever the heart is an’ all that stuff.’

  ‘Yes.’ Hennessey glanced up at the frosted glass of The Speculation Inn. Through the areas of clear glass he saw dark clouds looming ominously and rapidly.

 
‘So she told us she was waiting until the heat died down before going back; it seems that for her it was a case of any port in a storm.’

  ‘I see.’ Hennessey sipped his drink. ‘Strange she found The Mitre.’

  ‘She was in the area for a good few months before she found us, but like always finds like. If you hang around any city long enough you’ll find your own kind. Story was that she needed a fence, someone to take the stolen stuff off her, and eventually she found The Mitre. She really was in a good way of business. She even turned windows. Very unusual for a woman, and a woman of her years as well.’

  ‘Turned windows!’

  ‘Yes, she was a most adept burglar. Most adept. Or she could con and would con and charm her way into an old person’s house. She had a calm manner and a ready smile. She also had an ID card.’

  ‘Of?’

  ‘A social worker. She had dipped a social worker, found his ID in his wallet and realizing its usefulness she had kept it. The photo was a clean shaven, dark-haired young male, but it was all that was needed to con a partially sighted elderly person desperate for company, as so many of them are. So she would get into the elderly person’s house, leave with something of value and unload it in the Den. She wanted cash. . only cash, as we all do. Wouldn’t take it to a jeweller who’d be suspicious, and they have CCTV in their shops. So it was either the Den or the pawnbroker but she preferred the Den. If she couldn’t sell it in the Den only then would she pawn it. I used to feel sorry for her husband, poor soul.’

  ‘Oh. .’ Hennessey sipped his tonic water. ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, he’s thinking he’s got a nice wife to come home to and all the while she’s roaming the Vale. . and out to the coast.’

  ‘The coast?’

  ‘Oh yes, where do you go when you retire but the coast? Lots of easy pickings on the coast.’ He sipped his whisky.

  ‘She was doing this recently?’

  ‘Last week. She did a house last week somewhere and had got herself a bag of gold and ice. It was all worth thousands but she sold it for hundreds.’

  ‘Some woman,’ Hennessey shook his head. ‘We think someone was looking for her. Do you know anything about that?’

  ‘Yes,’ the man leaned forwards, ‘she was a frightened woman. Someone was on her trail, hunting her, and she was frightened of him. The wig, you see, an attempt at disguise. She’d take it off in the Den but put it on when it was time to leave.’

  ‘Did she drink?’

  ‘No, well always only fruit juice. Never touched booze. Playing safe. Can’t be the dutiful wife, his to come home to, with breath smelling of booze.’

  ‘Astounding.’

  ‘Not a nice woman at all. Couldn’t trust her, even among thieves. It doesn’t surprise me at all that someone offed her. Does not surprise me at all. Not in the slightest.’

  ‘Doesn’t surprise me either.’ Hennessey glanced round the room, the hard bench which stood against the wall, the circular brass-topped tables with stools around them, low ceiling, no decoration at all, hardwearing floor surface. The Speculation had not ever been modernized, as if, it seemed to Hennessey, it was waiting to be discovered by the real ale real pub brigade. ‘Just who was she?’

  The man shrugged and smiled and pushed his glass across the shiny brass surface of the table, holding a pleading manner of eye contact with Hennessey as he did so.

  ‘No more for you, Shored-Up, not from my pocket, but if you get a line on the fella that was looking for her, then contact me. If it’s good news you’ll get a serious wedge.’

  ‘And perhaps also a good word in for me with my probation officer, Miss Pratt? Oh my. . a tyrant. . what with her and the youth who informed on me. . my life is a trifle difficult at the moment.’

  ‘Maybe. The fella who was looking for Becky is also a Canadian, well built, chequered or tartan jacket, beard, fur hat, likes British beer. Strange that, stalking someone to kill them but finding time to enjoy the local beer as though he was on holiday.’ Hennessey stood. ‘But do try and get by on the dole. No more Lt Colonel Smythe (retired) of the Devon and Dorsets, or you’ll be back in the slammer. And you know how much you like all those rough boys.’

  ‘Too late for me to learn new skills, Mr H, far too late, I’m an old dog now.’

  ‘And keep your appointments with Miss Pratt.’

  ‘She’s a tyrant, still only in her twenties and a tyrant already.’

  ‘That,’ Hennessey buttoned his coat, ‘sounds exactly like the probation officer you need.’

  The owner of the Broomfield Hotel smiled a warm, wide smile and opened the booking ledger. She was a small framed woman, dressed in a business suit and giving off a soft aroma of perfume. ‘Two rooms, gentlemen?’

  ‘No rooms,’ Yellich showed his ID. ‘Sorry,’ he added with a smile.

  He thought the woman’s smile in response was forced. Business could not be good for the Broomfield Hotel, Malton. ‘Sorry to disappoint you.’

  ‘Well, it is a seasonal sort of business, winter is always a low time and this winter seems to be hanging on, quite reluctant to go. We get a few businessmen in the winter, that carries us through, or folk staying here while they are looking up relatives. So how can I help you?’ Mrs Stand continued to smile warmly.

  ‘We were told you recently put up a Canadian gentleman, tall man, beard, chequered or tartan jacket, seemed to like local beer. Quite recently. . a matter of days ago.’

  ‘Yes. . yes, we did. What would you like to know about him?’

  ‘All you can tell us.’

  The dining room of the Broomfield Hotel was, said the proprietor, ‘as good a place as any to talk’ and she escorted them there. The room had ten tables; all the tables had white cloths and cutlery lay neatly in wooden trays upon a sideboard. The room smelled of furniture polish and air freshener. The world passed the room on the other side of net curtains.

  ‘Well, he came,’ said the woman as she and the officers sat at one of the larger tables. ‘His name. . can’t recall his last name but his first name was Piers. . he liked to be called Piers.’

  ‘Yes, the publican gave that name.’

  ‘He paid cash as I recall, so never any cheque or credit card, so I never found out his surname. Doubt if I would remember it if I did. . my memory. . it was never good and now it’s getting worse.’

  ‘You remember his Christian name though,’ Yellich spoke softly.

  ‘Only because Piers is a name that has personal significance for me. It’s my brother’s name.’

  ‘I see. So what sort, what manner of man was he?’

  ‘Well I remember he had a warm manner but his mind was focused. He was not here on holiday. He was one of those guests who stay here because he had a task to fulfil. He came here a few times over the years. First time must have been about two years ago. . last time was a few days ago, as you said. If you are in this business you remember the good guests and you remember the bad guests and you remember the regulars. You also get a feel for guests. I grew up in a guest house in the Lake District so I have been in this game one way or another all my life and you do get a feel. . and Piers was a man with a mission.’

  ‘He never said what that mission was?’ Yellich probed. ‘No indication even?’

  ‘No,’ the proprietor shook her head, ‘no, he played his cards close to his chest. Piers was a good guest, clean. . neat. . well spoken. . quiet. . reserved. He went out each morning and returned each evening with beer on his breath but his conduct was still perfect so he didn’t drink a lot. He was always in by ten which is when I lock the door. I can’t keep the door open all night like a big hotel can. I have a maid who helps but at night, in the evenings, I am by myself, I don’t even have a dog. I can’t retire for the night and leave the front door unlocked. That would be asking for trouble.’

  ‘Of course,’ Webster agreed, ‘that would be unwise. . even in civilized Malton.’

  ‘Do you know how he travelled about?’ Yellich asked.

  ‘Car
.’

  ‘You didn’t get the registration number?’ Yellich asked hopefully.

  The proprietor shook her head and smiled sheepishly as if to say, ‘sorry, no’.

  ‘So when did he leave this last time?’

  ‘See. . Thursday today, it would be Tuesday, Tuesday in the evening. Yes, my bridge night. I host a bridge school here each Tuesday and I remember that I had to leave the table to allow him to settle his bill. . so Tuesday. Definitely Tuesday, two evenings ago.’

  ‘You will have cleaned his room by now?’

  ‘Yes and re-let it but if you wish to inspect it to look for fingerprints or whatever, then please do so.’

  ‘Thank you, we’ll do that,’ Yellich nodded. ‘He might have left us a print on an obscure surface. Is the room being let out at the moment?’

  ‘No, the guest who had that room left this morning.’

  ‘Well, if you could keep it empty, the SOCO boys will be here tomorrow.’

  ‘SOCO?’

  ‘Scene of Crime Officers.’

  ‘Ah. . but yes, of course. I am quiet at the moment, as you have seen. . no problem about keeping one room un-let.’

  ‘Thank you. He didn’t leave any item, any possession behind him?’

  ‘No, sorry, he didn’t. Some guests leave their room looking like one large dustbin; just leave anything they don’t want and leave it anywhere they wish, floor. . on the bed. . anywhere, but Piers, he picked up after himself. He was one of the good guests. I could do with more like him.’

  ‘I see. Did he ever ask directions or seek local knowledge or any other information?’ Yellich asked.

  ‘No. . no. . Piers was very independent, very self-reliant. He did have a road map of the area, I saw him looking very studiously at it over breakfast one morning. But he never asked directions or where anything was, he was just the quiet Canadian who only spoke if he was spoken to. Quiet but also with a purpose, who cleaned up his room after him, paid in cash, and left.’