by Pam Weaver
‘Passed counterfeit money.’
‘What’s your name, son?’
The man gave him a helpless look. ‘Will I go to prison for that?’
‘If you’re guilty,’ said the desk sergeant. ‘So, what’s your name?’
The man let out a sigh. ‘Eric Farmer.’
CHAPTER 33
‘Haven’t you given the game away by telling us all this?’ said Imogen.
Mr Balentine laughed. ‘I think you have been reading a little too much John Buchan or maybe watching too many Alfred Hitchcock films, Mrs Hayward. I was undercover for a while, but that part of the investigation is over.’
‘So you never did work for the council,’ said Ruby.
‘Only for a few days,’ Mr Balentine admitted. ‘By the way, we would like both of you to keep all this under your hats for a while.’
‘Me? Keep a secret?’ Imogen teased.
‘I hope you can,’ said Mr Balentine drily.
When the photographs were ready, Ruby, Imogen and Mr Balentine were called into the dining area where Sir Hubert was waiting for them. He had everything spread out on the table. Now that they were 16 x 12 inches, even though the pictures themselves were degraded, Ruby picked out a few things she’d not noticed before.
‘What do you see?’ asked Mr Balentine.
Ruby bent over the photograph again. ‘It’s a man at the wheel and a woman taking the package,’ she said. ‘The passenger is definitely taking the package, rather than giving it. The driver has his head towards the boys, but the contour of the door frame has hidden his face. However, he is wearing a large, distinctive wristwatch.’
‘I would never have noticed all that,’ Imogen cried.
‘That nail looks manicured,’ said Ruby, pointing to the hand draped along the edge of the passenger door.
‘Some men have manicures,’ Sir Hubert remarked.
‘She’s right,’ said Imogen. ‘No man, unless he was playing a musical instrument, would have nails shaped like that.’
Above their heads, Mr Balentine and Sir Hubert exchanged a glance.
‘That’s an unusual ring she’s got,’ Imogen said. ‘I’m sure I’ve seen someone with that ring, but I can’t think where.’
‘It looks a bit like a snake,’ said Mr Balentine.
‘Hmm, a snake eating its own tail,’ said Sir Hubert. ‘I must say, you two are both very observant.’
‘I owe that to my husband,’ said Ruby, looking away in case she began welling up. ‘He was an excellent photographer. He taught me to look all around the frame.’ She stepped back. ‘The driver has a ring exactly like the one the passenger is wearing.’
The two men studied the photograph using a magnifying glass. ‘By golly, she’s right, Balentine.’
‘So what happens now?’
‘Nothing you need concern yourself with, my dear,’ said Sir Hubert. ‘You have done more than enough. We are very grateful to you both.’
‘You will catch these people?’ said Imogen.
‘Absolutely,’ replied Mr Balentine.
‘There’s something else I think you should know,’ Ruby began. ‘Franz and Albrecht weren’t all that they seemed. I can speak German, and I heard them talking. Why would two schoolboys be interested in taking a picture of the gasworks?’
‘Why indeed?’ said Mr Balentine.
Ruby went on to tell them about the suspicions that both she and Jim had about the Germans, and how Jim made sure none of their pictures went home. ‘He gave them some postcards of Worthing,’ Ruby went on. ‘They were very old. Taken before the new pier was built, after the gales in 1913.’
‘Your Jim sounds like an enterprising fellow,’ said Mr Balentine, smiling sympathetically.
Ruby’s throat tightened and she blinked as her eyes smarted.
‘Leave it with us,’ Sir Hubert assured them. ‘Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. You really need to get on with the rest of your life, my dear.’
Ruby cleared her throat. ‘I think you should know, Sir Hubert,’ she interrupted, ‘I don’t believe for one minute that my husband committed suicide.’ Her voice had become thick with emotion.
‘I’m sure you don’t, my dear,’ said Sir Hubert, patting her arm, ‘but sometimes we have to accept the unpalatable truth.’
Ruby felt a twinge of irritation. How dare he say that! He could at least do her the courtesy of listening to what she had to say. Instead of pussy-footing around, why didn’t they arrest somebody? This mild-mannered way of doing things made even the possibility of the ruination of the British currency sound like some sort of parlour game. As they were ushered from the room, Ruby wondered if she should tell them what she had done.
‘I’ll send Marshall round with the car,’ said Sir Hubert as they gathered in the hall. ‘I must let you get back to your little boy. Thank you so much for coming.’
Ten minutes later they were back in the luxurious seat of his chauffeur-driven car. Ruby was galled to be dismissed like an empty-headed feather-brain. The glass partition between the front and back seat was closed, so they talked freely.
‘Oh, that wretched man was so horribly condescending,’ she spat.
‘Sir Hubert?’
‘Well, I didn’t mean Mr Balentine.’
‘He was rather dishy, wasn’t he?’ said Imogen.
‘Who?’
Imogen chuckled. ‘Don’t try and tell me you weren’t looking.’
Ruby had been looking, but she wasn’t about to tell Imogen. She hadn’t been a married woman, in the biblical sense, for three years, but she had only just been widowed. It wasn’t the right time to be looking at men. Besides, after the years she’d just endured, she didn’t want a romance. Love, as far as she was concerned, was too costly; too painful. She didn’t want it walking back into her life – certainly not yet, maybe not ever.
She began to think about the Germans’ package. Could it have contained forged notes? She’d never ever seen one in her life – or at least she didn’t think she had – and then she remembered the five-pound note in Jim’s Post Office book. It was in her bag. She opened it and got it out.
‘What’s that?’ Imogen asked.
Ruby held it up to the light. ‘It was Jim’s,’ she said. ‘I’m wondering if I should have told them about it.’
‘Is it real?’ Imogen asked.
‘I don’t know,’ said Ruby. ‘I need to put it next to a real one.’
Imogen opened her bag and pulled out her purse. When she took out a five-pound note, they compared the two.
‘They’re different,’ Imogen whispered.
‘So most likely this is a forgery too,’ Ruby nodded. ‘But where did Jim get it from?’
‘From the schoolboys?’
‘It’s possible,’ said Ruby, ‘but why not do something about it then? Why wait all this time?’ She frowned crossly. ‘I bet Sir Hubert does nothing about it. Patronizing old goat.’
‘Shh,’ Imogen cautioned, and they both stared at the back of the driver’s neck, but he showed no reaction. He seemed to be concentrating on the road ahead, and the glass partition between the front and back seat meant that he hadn’t heard them. ‘Anyway, what can he do?’
‘Challenge them,’ said Ruby. ‘Make these people who want to wreck the country come out into the open.’
‘Easier said than done,’ said Imogen.
‘Well, I’ve already done it,’ said Ruby, looking rather smug.
‘How?’
‘I’ve written a letter to the Surrey and Sussex Recorder,’ said Ruby. ‘They’re printing the picture of Jim receiving first prize for his article this week, so I told them my husband may be dead, but I shall champion his causes. From now on, I’m offering to be the voice of the people of Worthing.’
‘But you don’t know that the people Sir Hubert was talking about will even see the letter,’ said Imogen. ‘Why would they care about a small-time provincial paper and its readers, when they’re aiming for world domination?’
Ruby was flummoxed. Put like that, Imogen was right. Had she allowed herself to get carried away on a wave of passion?
‘Not only that,’ said Imogen, ‘but you do realize that you may have put yourself, and Michael, at risk?’
‘How?’
‘By giving out your details,’ said Imogen. ‘What if someone who disagrees with you comes knocking on your door?’
Ruby’s face drained itself of colour. ‘I’ll ring them up as soon as I get home,’ she said. ‘I’ll ask them to withdraw the letter.’
Sir Hubert poured himself a whisky and soda. ‘So what do you think of our Mrs Searle, Balentine?’
‘I don’t think she has any real idea of what’s happening, but she’s a bright woman, and right now she’s probably putting two and two together.’
‘I think you’re right,’ said Sir Hubert. ‘Help yourself to a drink, and pour a sherry for Mrs Fosdyke while you’re at it.’
The door opened and Freda Fosdyke came into the room. As she flopped into a chair, Balentine handed her a drink.
‘Did she see you, Freda?’
Freda Fosdyke shook her head. ‘Now that we’ve got the photographs, we can just about wrap this one up.’
‘You’ve done an amazing job, Freda,’ said Sir Hubert. Mrs Fosdyke had been gathering information on Nazi sympathizers for years, first as Head of House at Warnes Hotel and then as a trusted member of various clubs in the town. ‘But,’ Sir Hubert continued, ‘we still have to get incontrovertible proof.’
Freda sighed. ‘I shan’t be sorry to see this lot behind bars.’
‘We shall have to move you on, of course.’
‘That’s fine by me,’ said Freda. ‘It’s uncomfortable spying on people I’ve known all my life, even if it is for the sake of public safety. They think I’m cold and aloof, but that’s only because I have to be.’
‘Well, we have something else in mind for you,’ said Sir Hubert. ‘And let me assure you, it won’t go unnoticed, what you’ve already done for your country.’
‘I should warn you,’ said Freda, sipping her drink, ‘don’t underestimate Ruby Searle. It wouldn’t surprise me if she took matters into her own hands. Once she senses something is wrong, she’s like a terrier with a bone. She won’t give up easily.’
Balentine smiled. ‘What did I tell you, sir?’
Ruby dropped the telephone back onto the cradle. She felt sick. What an idiot she’d been. The secretary had been sympathetic. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Searle,’ she said when Ruby explained, ‘but there’s no point in putting you through to the editor. The paper has already gone to print. We didn’t put your name on the letter. It’s just got “Name and address supplied” at the bottom. You needn’t worry. No one will know it was you.’
Of course the people passing forged bank notes wouldn’t know, and Imogen was right, they wouldn’t care; but the people following Jim’s old rants about Hitler, and the unfair treatment of migrants, might have their suspicions. To protect his identity, Jim had been deliberately vague in his letters. Ruby could see that now, but she had been angry when she wrote her letter. In the cold, hard light of day, she couldn’t remember exactly what she’d said. Had she been vague enough? She was alone in the house, apart from Michael. Michael! What if she really had put him at risk? What a fool she’d been. What a stupid idiot.
After her phone call, Ruby went to her mother’s place to fetch Michael. Apparently he had been as good as gold and had drunk her expressed breast milk from a bottle. The way he looked up at Bea as she chatted, Ruby could tell that the two of them already had a very strong bond. Bea handed her grandson back to his mother and he rewarded her with a wide toothless grin. Ruby sat cuddling him as she told Bea some of what had happened at Rustington.
‘You still think Jim was killed?’ said Bea.
‘More than ever, Mum,’ said Ruby. ‘Why do away with yourself when you’ve just won a major prize, you have a column of your own in the paper and get paid for it, not to mention umpteen requests for crossword puzzles?’
‘It could have something to do with the orphanage,’ said Bea. ‘You said he was upset about his parents.’
‘I think he was coming to terms with that,’ said Ruby. ‘He’d been to see someone who worked in the orphanage office, and he was pretty sure he knew who his parents were.’
‘Did he tell you who?’
Ruby shook her head. ‘All I know is, he was writing letters.’ She toyed with the idea of telling her mother about the letter she’d put in the paper, but thought better of it. Bea would only insist that she should stay at her place, and Ruby was anxious to be in her own home. So long as she kept Michael safe, everything would be fine.
Ruby stayed with her parents until around five o’clock, then walked back with Michael in his pram. She was just pulling it over the threshold when Lena called over the fence, ‘Eric’s home.’
It was lovely seeing him again and Eric looked happy to be back with his family. The friends decided to share their evening meal together. Jean played with Michael, who was beginning to respond well. Ruby loved watching them together. Jean was so gentle and loving, and Michael had a real bond with her. He never stopped smiling when she was around and his eyes lit up when she came near.
‘Ruby, I know people have said all sorts,’ Eric began, ‘but I want you to know that Jim was perfectly fine when I left him that day.’
‘I believe you,’ said Ruby, ‘but I did hear that you two had a row.’
‘We did,’ Eric admitted. ‘I’m not proud of it. He wanted to talk to me about Jean. I realize now that he wanted to tell me the police had decided not to pursue us any more, but I was so angry I didn’t stop to hear that.’ Putting his hand on his chest, he looked at Lena and said, ‘I swear, on our baby’s life, I never touched the man.’
‘How did Jim seem to you?’ Ruby asked. ‘Was he depressed?’
‘Far from it,’ said Eric. ‘When I went in, he said he was expecting someone. He was excited about it.’
‘Did he say who it was?’
Eric shook his head. ‘I never saw them. I was in the shed. I went in to punch a few flower pots and calm down.’ He glanced at Lena again. ‘It’s the first time I’ve lost my rag since I’ve been here. There was nobody around when I went back to work at a quarter to five.’
‘I still don’t understand why you cleared off,’ said Ruby.
‘I had a dud fiver and passed it on in the pub,’ said Eric. ‘I heard the landlord raising merry hell about it, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before he worked out that it was me what gave it to him.’
‘You could have explained,’ said Ruby, ‘or gone to the police.’
‘I was scared,’ said Eric sheepishly. ‘I didn’t want to go back inside.’
‘But he did give himself up in the end,’ said Lena. ‘Didn’t you, love?’
Eric grasped her hand. ‘Only because I hadn’t eaten for three days and I stank to high heaven,’ he admitted. ‘I couldn’t come back home. I didn’t want to get you into trouble.’
‘But he’s given a statement to the police,’ said Lena. ‘It’s all right. He won’t be arrested.’
It was at this moment that Ruby remembered the other set of photographs she’d taken to the shop. She glanced up at the clock. The shops closed at six. It was ten to now. If she ran all the way, she might make it in time to get them today.
‘Take my bike,’ said Eric, when she explained about her puncture, ‘or, better yet, I’ll get them for you.’
When he got back, Ruby couldn’t wait to see what was on the photographs. She was confident the pictures would bring her a little closer to knowing what secrets Jim had unearthed, and would maybe even lead her to his killer. But when she opened the envelope she was sorely disappointed. Every frame was blank.
CHAPTER 34
It was the sound of running feet that woke him up. He must have nodded off. How long had he been asleep? Balentine cursed himself and struggled to sit up. It was cramped in the car,
especially with his long legs. He must have slept with his mouth wide open too. A film of dried saliva crusted his chin and there was a wet area on the lapel of his coat. He was frozen to the marrow. He yawned and scratched his tousled hair.
It was lighter than he expected it to be. He struggled to focus his eyes and looked at his watch. Two-thirty. It was nearly Christmas, but it seemed as light as a summer’s night. He turned stiffly to see who had been running by. At the end of the road a shady figure was climbing into a parked car. He watched as the engine revved into life and the car sped away. As he turned back to look at the house, his heart almost stopped. A plume of smoke rose in the cold early-morning air and there were livid flames around the front door. Sod it! He’d come to guard her and keep watch but, while he’d slept, someone had crept up the path and set fire to the house.
He leapt from the car and ran up the path. Whoever that man was, he had put accelerant through the letter box. He could smell it from here. Paraffin!
He’d been inside her house only twice, and that was more than a year ago, but he could remember the layout as if it were yesterday: front door, hallway, stairs. If the flammable liquid had spread far enough, she would be cut off, with no way of escape. If enough smoke filled the staircase, she and her baby might sleep on and never wake up. The thought filled him with a sense of panic. He couldn’t get anywhere near the door to bang on it or ring the bell. The whole door and its frame had been doused and were already engulfed.
‘Mrs Searle,’ he shouted at the closed bedroom window. ‘Ruby! Ruby, wake up.’
He bent down and picked up a small handful of gravel from the pathway and threw it up at the glass. It made several crisp ringing sounds, but there was no response. Where did she sleep? The front room was usually considered the best, but then he remembered that this was a guest house. She would most likely keep the better rooms for her visitors. He shouted one last time, before racing around the side of the house to the back door. He banged it with all his might. ‘Ruby! Ruby, wake up!’