by Frank Smith
On his way to his car, Paget called Charlie Dobbs on his mobile phone.
‘Have any of your people left for the Fletcher cottage on the road to Lyddingham?’ he asked when Charlie answered.
‘Not yet. I only just heard about it a few minutes ago. Why?’
Paget hesitated. He didn’t like to ask favours, but in this case . . .
‘Look, Charlie, I’ll apologize in advance for what I’m about to ask you, but could you keep Grace away from this one? I’m told it’s a drowning in a bathtub, and I’m very much afraid?’
‘No need to apologize, Neil. I thought of that myself when I was told about the circumstances, so I won’t be sending Grace.’
‘Thanks, Charlie. I appreciate it, but please don’t tell her I called you.’
Nineteen
‘She’s still in the bath where we found her,’ the uniformed constable told Paget. ‘We were told not to touch anything, so we haven’t – well, except for the doors. We broke in the back because it was the easiest, and left it open, then opened the front door as well to clear the air a bit. Oh, yes, and we switched the heater off in the bathroom. It was going full blast, and it was pretty ripe in there – still is, for that matter, but not as bad as it was.’
‘I understand it was her employer’s son who called you. Is he still around?’
‘Next door in the other cottage along with the old man who lives there.’ The constable consulted his notebook. ‘Clyde Nichols is his name, and the old man’s name is Hawkins, Tom Hawkins. My colleague is with them.
‘Any word from Dr Starkie?’
The constable grinned. ‘He called in a few minutes ago. Seems he got himself lost, and he wasn’t best pleased. Used a few words I haven’t heard in a long while, but I think we got him on the right road. He should be along in a few minutes if he doesn’t get lost again.’
‘In that case, I’d advise you to tread softly when he does arrive,’ Paget warned.
‘It’s the back room on the right,’ the constable directed as the detectives were about to enter the cottage, ‘and best take a good deep breath before you go in.’
They paused only long enough to pull on thin latex gloves before going in. The smell had been bad enough at the front door, but the sickly odour was almost overpowering as they approached the tiny bathroom at the back of the house. They stopped at the doorway to take in the scene.
Judging by the fittings and the old-fashioned high-sided tub, the conversion to a bathroom from what was probably a scullery at one time must have taken place a long time ago. The sink and toilet weren’t much more up to date, but the electric heater attached to the wall was definitely a recent addition.
A heavy, dark-blue bathrobe lay on the floor. A ragged piece of carpet served as a bath mat, and a large towel was folded neatly on the toilet seat. There was no cabinet or cupboard of any sort – there simply wasn’t room – so everything in the way of toiletries sat next to an unopened packet of Pears soap and a spare roll of toilet paper on the window sill above the sink. In fact, apart from the naked body lying on its side with hair matted to the face in a tub devoid of water – and the flies – nothing seemed to be out of place.
‘You can forget suicide,’ Tregalles said. ‘The towel’s wrong for a start. I mean, why would she set it there if she’d decided to drown herself?’ He touched the inside of the tub. ‘Dry as a bone,’ he said.
‘She may have kicked the plug out before she died,’ said Paget. ‘Looks like some bruising around the throat and face, but I don’t see any other marks on her. Still, we’ll see what Starkie has to say when he gets here.’
Tregalles stood looking down at the body. ‘Funny,’ he said, ‘but she looks smaller than I remember. Hair looks lighter, too.’ He slipped off one of his gloves and touched it gingerly. ‘Like straw,’ he said as he put the glove back on.
‘You’re sure this is the same woman?’
‘Oh, yes. No doubt about it. She was the one who was screaming for Fletcher to get out of there.’
‘Mind if I play through?’ a voice asked. They turned to see one of Charlie’s men, loaded down with cameras. ‘I’d like to get some pics before the doc shows up. Thought he’d’ve been here by now, but the bloke outside says he got lost.’ He blinked several times, wrinkled his nose and blew out his cheeks. ‘Cor! Bit of a pong in there, isn’t there? And flies. I hate flies and maggots. Should’ve brought the gas mask. How long has she been dead? Murder, was it?’ He stuck his head inside the door to take a quick look round. ‘All right if I open that window?’
‘Suspicious death,’ said Paget, ‘and I think you’d better wait until Dr Starkie and the rest of your lot have had a look at things before you move anything, including the window. Are they here now?’
‘Just suiting up,’ Haydock said. ‘They’ll be here in a minute, so I’d better get on.’ He wrinkled his nose again. ‘But I won’t be taking very long, I can tell you.’
Charlie Dobbs was about to enter the cottage as Paget and Tregalles emerged, when he stopped and drew Paget aside.
‘I had to tell Grace why she wasn’t being sent on this one,’ he said quietly, ‘and I’m afraid it didn’t go down too well. When I told her I didn’t think she was ready for it, she got a little hot under the collar, and insisted that it was part of her job and she should be allowed to go. In fact, I’m sure she would be here now if I had let her come, and yet I had the feeling that she was relieved when I insisted that she stay behind. Even so, I don’t think I’ve heard the last of it from her, and I suspect you will be hearing about it when you get home.’
‘You didn’t tell her I called you, did you?’
Charlie shook his head. ‘She won’t hear it from me,’ he said, ‘but she was not a happy gal when I left her, so be warned.’
Clyde Nichols was an affable, if somewhat shaken young man in his early twenties, while Hawkins was almost four times his age, wizened, bent and slow-moving. The constable who had been with them had gone, which was just as well considering the size of the tiny front room, where even four seemed a crowd. Nichols said his father, who owned the shop where Rose Ryan worked, had become concerned when she didn’t show up for work, and he hadn’t been able to contact her.
‘So he asked me to drop in this afternoon to find out if she was all right,’ he said.
‘How did you know something was wrong?’ asked Paget.
‘I didn’t at first, so I came round here to ask Mr Hawkins if he knew where Rose was, and he said he hadn’t seen her since the weekend. But he said he’d heard her shouting late Friday night, but he didn’t think too much of it because he said she and her boyfriend were always going on at each other.’
The old man snorted. ‘Hardly a day went by they wasn’t shouting at each other,’ he said. ‘So when I heard the car stop outside and then her screaming at the top of her voice a few minutes later, I thought it was him come back, so I . . .’ He stopped to catch his breath. He thumped his chest with a gnarled fist. ‘Asthma,’ he gasped as he reached for an inhaler on the mantelpiece. He used it and sank into his chair beside the fireplace. ‘Be all right in a minute,’ he gasped when he saw the concern on their faces. ‘It can be a right old bugger this time o’ year.’
Paget waited for the old man’s breathing to return to normal before he said, ‘You were about to say, Mr Hawkins . . .?’
The old man looked a bit sheepish. ‘Like I said, I thought they was just having another one o’ their arguments, so I turned the tele up a bit and let ’em get on with it. Besides,’ he continued defensively, ‘even if I had known something was up, I couldn’t do much about it.’ He pointed to two walking sticks beside the chair. ‘Whoever it was would be halfway to Lyddingham before I got out the door, and I’ve got no phone.’
Paget nodded. ‘No one’s blaming you,’ he said. ‘Do you recall what time it was when you heard the shouting?’
‘Nine or a bit after. I was thinking about going to bed, and I remember wondering if they were going to ke
ep it up much longer and keep me awake, but then it stopped.’
Paget turned his attention back to Nichols. ‘So what did you do after speaking to Mr Hawkins?’
‘Went out and looked in all the windows, but I couldn’t see any sign of life until I got round the back and saw the little window there. I thought it might be a bathroom, and decided I’d better have a look in case Rose had slipped and fallen.’
He paused, frowning for a moment as if trying to work something out. ‘To tell you the truth,’ he said slowly, ‘I don’t really know why I did it. It just didn’t seem right not to have a look in that last window, so I got a box to stand on from the shed at the back, and got up there to take a look. It was hard to see anything at first, but then I saw her there in the bath. Shook me a bit, I can tell you.’
‘You called her Rose. Did you know her well?’
Nichols shrugged. ‘No, not really. She’s only been with us for a few months, and I’ve worked with her the odd time, but she kept pretty much to herself. I’m normally in the office,’ he explained, ‘but I lend a hand in the shop if things get busy or they’re short-handed.’
‘The shop?’
‘The Hide and Seek in Lyddingham. It’s quite a large shop. It’s grown a lot in the last few years. We have three full-time shop assistants, and three part-time. We sell hand-crafted leather goods, belts, jackets, handbags, an exclusive line of knitwear, as well as a few selected items from the local glass works.’
‘Ever go out with Rose? Chat her up?’ Tregalles asked.
Nichols looked surprised. ‘Why would you ask that?’ he said. ‘She’s at least ten years older than me.’
‘Good-looking woman, all the same. Did you?’
‘No.’
‘Did she have any particular friend in the shop?’
‘I don’t think so. In fact she kept pretty much to herself, but she was good with customers, especially the men. She had a sort of way with her.’
‘What sort of way?’
Nichols coloured slightly. ‘Hard to describe,’ he said. ‘They just sort of took to her.’
‘This way of hers – sexy, was it?’
‘I suppose it was a bit. She sold more to men than any of the other girls.’
‘Fancy her yourself, then, did you?’
The colour in Nichols’ face deepened. ‘As I said, she was a lot older than me and she was living with someone.’
‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ Tregalles said. ‘Ever been out here to the house before? Take her home in your car, something like that?’
‘No. Never. And I don’t like what you’re implying. Rose worked in the shop, and any dealings I had with her were strictly on a business level.’
‘You married, Mr Nichols?’
‘No. I’m engaged to be married in June, but I don’t see what that has to do with anything. And I’d like to make it clear that the only reason I’m here is because my father asked me to stop in on my way into town to find out why Rose hadn’t come in to work today.’
‘It may not be relevant at all,’ said Paget soothingly, ‘but we do have to explore every possibility, Mr Nichols. So what can you tell me about Miss Ryan?’
Only somewhat mollified, Nichols shook his head. ‘Not much,’ he said. ‘As I said, she kept pretty much to herself. I knew she was living out here with a boyfriend or whatever, but I only ever saw him once when he came to pick her up at the shop. Can’t say I liked the look of him. Scruffy-looking type. Couldn’t see him and Rose as a couple at all, but then it takes all sorts, I suppose.’
‘You knew we were looking for him?’
Nichols looked confused. ‘Looking for the man she was living with? I don’t understand.’
‘Gerry Fletcher. It’s been on the radio and television. You must have seen or heard that we were looking for him.’
Nichols frowned and shook his head. ‘I didn’t even know his name. I don’t have much time to watch television.’ He stopped abruptly. ‘Fletcher!’ he said. ‘So he’s the one. Yes, I did hear it on the radio several times, but I never connected him with Rose.’ His eyes widened. ‘Did he . . .?’ He flicked his head toward the cottage next door.
‘Did he what, Mr Nichols?’
‘Well . . . kill her?’
‘Why would you say that?’ Paget asked. ‘I don’t recall saying anything about the way she died.’
Nichols reddened. ‘I just thought . . . I mean, the questions you’ve been asking . . .’
‘We don’t know how Miss Ryan died as yet,’ Paget told him. ‘Now, you say you saw her in the bath when you looked in the window. What did you do then?’
Nichols drew a deep breath. ‘I could see she was dead by the way she was lying there in the tub – and the smell! Even with the window closed . . .’ He swallowed hard. ‘Which is why I rang the police instead of an ambulance on my mobile phone. I knew they could break in, but I didn’t know if ambulance people could do that without some sort of authorization.’
Tregalles said, ‘You didn’t attempt to break in yourself, then?’
Nichols shook his head. ‘I knew I couldn’t help her, so there was no point.’
‘How long did you have to wait for the police to arrive?’
‘Not long. Ten, maybe fifteen minutes. The chap I spoke to on the phone got quite excited when I told him I thought Rose was dead. He took my name and said I wasn’t to move until they got here.’
‘What happened then?’
‘I showed them where I’d climbed up to look in the window, and as soon as one of the men had a look, they both had a go at the door and broke it open.’
‘Did you go inside?’
‘No. They told me to stay outside. Not that I wanted to go in anyway. It smelt bad enough outside. God knows what it must be like in there.’ He wrinkled his nose at the memory. ‘Don’t you have any idea about what happened to her?’ he asked in a small voice.
‘We’ll have to wait for the doctor’s report before we know the cause of death,’ Paget told him as he rose to his feet. ‘I understand that you have given your address and phone number to the constable, and I should warn you that you will probably be contacted by the coroner’s office at the time of the inquest.’
‘Will I have to go as well?’ Hawkins asked querulously.
‘You may,’ Paget told him, ‘but I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you; considering the state of your health they will probably come out here and take your statement.’
Hawkins made a face. ‘Rather go to the inquest,’ he said. ‘I’ve never been to one of them. Be a bit of a change, wouldn’t it?’
‘Then don’t even mention your health if they send you a notice,’ Tregalles advised. ‘But how will you get there? The inquest will be in Broadminster.’
‘I’ll take him,’ Nichols volunteered. ‘I’ll have to go right past here anyway, so it won’t be any trouble. All right, Mr Hawkins?’
The old man beamed. ‘That it is, lad,’ he said. ‘That it is!’
Grace stared blankly at the paperwork in front of her. Knowing that Neil would not be home until later in the evening, she had decided to stay on at work and get a head start on her month-end report. But she might as well have gone home for all she’d accomplished, because she was still smouldering over Charlie’s decision to pull her from the team.
His words had been going round and round inside her head ever since he and the others had left.
‘I’m sorry, Grace, but it’s for your own good. I really don’t think you’re ready for something like this, not so soon after . . .’ He’d left the sentence unfinished, but they both knew what he meant.
She’d argued, but to no avail. Charlie had stopped short of making it an order, and she’d had the good sense not to push it to the limit, but the argument had left her feeling frustrated and annoyed, not just with Charlie, but with herself – and guilty, because she felt she’d let Charlie down.
But what was worse, she felt she’d let herself down. She’d been a fool to think tha
t she could carry on as if everything was fine; dodging questions, saying she was ‘just tired’, when Neil had shown concern. Even before Neil had told Charlie that he was worried about the overtime Grace was working, Charlie had known there was something wrong. He’d told her that the other day. And if Charlie knew, then Neil probably knew as well.
Grace leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. Probably? Of course Neil must know. She’d thought she was being so clever in keeping her secret to herself, but she had seen the questions in his eyes; heard them in his voice . . .
He was waiting for her to tell him what was wrong. He trusted her. She couldn’t let him down.
Grace felt the sting of tears behind her eyes. She’d thought she was doing things for the best; thought she could work things out without anyone knowing, but she’d been wrong, and time was running out. There was only one thing she could think of left to try, and the very thought of what might happen if that didn’t work was enough to . . .
She thrust the thought away. She had no choice. It simply had to work.
They found Starkie sitting at the kitchen table writing up his notes.
‘How the hell you expected me to do an examination while this one was still in that monster of a bathtub, I don’t know,’ he greeted them. ‘I may have lost weight, but I’m not a bloody contortionist, and I wasn’t going to climb in there with her. So I had one of your constables pull her out. The one with the smirk and smart-arsed questions about my sense of direction. He wasn’t smirking quite so much by the time he got her out of the bath, I can tell you. Serve the cheeky young sod right.’