by G. M. Dobbs
‘There’ll be fingerprints on that, er....’
‘It’s a wheel-brace,’ the inspector said. ‘Used for changing wheels at the roadside.’
‘Well there you are then,’ Granny said, speaking through a mouthful of thick smoke. ‘Stan doesn’t drive. Hasn’t even got a bicycle.’
The inspector smiled, wryly.
‘This may not even be related to the murder,’ he said.’ Someone could have thrown it into the undergrowth months ago.’
‘Sure,’ Granny puffed on her pipe. ‘ A heavily blood stained wheel thingy is discovered only a few hundred yards from a brutal murder and the two are not related.’
‘That remains to be seen.’
Strange how your men didn’t find it when they searched the area.’
The inspector frowned, ignored her and walked over to watch his men as they carefully cut their way through to where the wheel-brace lay. A clearing had to be made so that a forensic team could examine the makeshift weapon and its surroundings, before it was bagged and taken away to the lab. It seemed certain that the wheel-brace had been thrown through the hedgerow from the road, but nevertheless the entire area would need to be searched again.
Twice was in his element. And Granny watched, as he chatted away to a group of constables, no doubt telling them of how he had found the weapon and of his ordeal with the hound of hell. That self same dog, now secured on its lead, was standing obediently besides its owner who had joined the onlookers at the perimeter the police had thrown up.
Granny sat there, smoking her pipe and watching the hustle and bustle around her. She hoped the discovery of the murder weapon would clear Stan’s name, and she could see no reason why it shouldn’t. She got to her feet and walked over to where Chief Inspector Miskin was standing.
‘Did the post mortem establish the time of Edith’s death?’ she asked.
The chief inspector looked at her and for a moment Granny though he was going to shout her down again, but he simply shook his head.
‘It did,’ he said. ‘Somewhere between six and seven that evening.’
‘Then that gives Stan an alibi.’ Granny said. ‘He was with my Arthur all that time.’
‘It would seem it does,’ the inspector said. ‘And if it does turn out to be the murder weapon that you and Constable Davies discovered, then it casts even more doubt on his guilt.’
‘I told you Stan didn’t do it.’
‘You did,’ the chief inspector nodded. ‘Now I hope that means you leave the police work to the professionals.’
Granny was about to say something about the professionals not having done much of a job thus far, but decided against it.
‘I still think you should take my information about that Nigel Charlton seriously.’
‘Mr Charlton will be questioned, ‘ the inspector had to stand aside as a suited up forensic officer pushed past and went through the newly formed opening in the hedgerow. ‘We do know what we’re doing.’
‘Of course,’ Granny said.
‘Do you know what Mr Charlton does for a living?’ the inspector asked, aware of the sarcasm in the old woman’s voice.
Granny frowned.
‘I thought he was retired,’ she said.
‘He’s semi retired,’ the inspector smiled, pleased to finally be one up on the old woman. ‘I checked him out, but prior to retirement he was a solicitor with a reasonably successful law firm, quite a big firm in fact. He still takes on some work but in a freelance capacity and specialises in matters of inheritance, the drawing up of wills and so forth. So I would say it’s a safe bet that he knows the law inside out.’
The information had taken Granny back a little, and it made the man’s engagement and forthcoming nuptials all the more odd. Why would such a man be interested in Sheila? She had no money so to speak of, her most valuable asset being her home and it wasn’t as if she had an inheritance coming to her. As far as Granny knew, Sheila didn’t have any family to inherit from.
‘That doesn’t mean he’s not involved in Edith’s murder,’ Granny tapped the remains of her pipe out onto the palm of her hand and allowed it to fall to the ground.
‘That’s true,’ the inspector said. ‘But before we go breathing down his neck we’d better make sure we have a damn good reason. I don’t want to end up back in uniform so if you don’t mind, I’ll do my job as I see fit.’
‘Very well, carry on,’ the old woman said with an inner smirk and made her way back to the deckchair that had been set up for her.
‘I’d like to kill that woman,’ the inspector muttered, clenching his fists. ‘So help me I’d like to kill her.’
Arthur looked at the wall clock and frowned.
It was close on seven thirty and he had no idea where Granny had gotten to. He’d rung her mobile and heard the familiar ring-tone, Smoke on the Water, coming from the kitchen. That made him angry as he didn’t see the point of owning a mobile phone if you just left it at home all the time, which was something Granny had a habit of doing.
‘Bloody woman,’ he grumbled as Timmy and Tiffy came into the kitchen.
‘We’re hungry, Gramps,’ they said in unison.
Arthur smiled at the twins. Granny knew the twins slept over on a Thursday night for their Leanne (beloved daughter and mother of the twins) to go to bingo with that drip of a husband of hers, and it wasn’t like her to be late. Suzy, Leanne’s eldest daughter, being thirteen, was allowed to stay at home alone for the few hours her parents were at the bingo, but the twins were too much for a thirteen year old to handle. If the truth were told the twins were too demanding for a seventy five year old man, Arthur was discovering.
‘I could do you some toast,’ he said.
‘Don’t want toast,’ Timmy said.
‘Me neither,’ Tiffy echoed.
‘Then what do you want?’ Arthur asked, trying to hold on to his patience.
‘I’ll have cereal,’ Tiffy said.
‘Egg and chips for me,’ Timmy said.
‘Oh go one then,’ Tiffy said. ‘I quite fancy egg and chips.’
‘And a sausage,’ Timmy put in.
‘Yeah,’ his sister agreed.
Arthur heard a car pull up outside and he ran past the twins and went to the window. His heart sank when he saw it was a police car pulling up and for one awful moment he feared they were bringing bad news about his wife, but then he saw Dai Twice step out and a moment later Granny got out herself.
Arthur ran and opened the front door.
‘Where have you been?’ he asked.
‘I’ll tell you later,’ Granny said and pushed past him. ‘I think we may have cleared Stan’s name, though.’
‘Evening, Mr Smith,’ Twice said and stepped into the house.
‘Evening Dai,’ Arthur said.
‘Constable Davies,’ Twice said. ‘I’m still on duty.’
‘There we are then,’ Arthur closed the door behind them and they all went through to the living room.
Eleven
The following morning, after dropping the twins off at School, Granny had made her way to Sheila’s.
It had been some time since Granny had been to Sheila’s house, but the old woman knew she would be made welcome. That was the way of life in the village where everyone seemed to know each other and were always popping in and out of each other’s houses, and besides Granny had a good reason for visiting, for in her hand she carried the small RSVP slip that had come with the wedding invitation Sheila had popped around.
Useful that, given that Granny’s recent involvement with the police had made her feel like something of an amateur detective and she so wanted to get a closer look at Nigel and Sheila together. She wanted to get some idea of how their relationship worked and the best way of doing that, she’d decided, was to observe them on their home turf.
Sheila’s house was situated at the far Northern end of the village and Granny had contemplated jumping on the bus, but it was a lovely morning and so she walked the mile or so
, and thoroughly enjoyed it. She bumped into people on the streets whom she hadn’t seen for months, more than once she stopped to share pleasantries and catch up on whatever gossip was going around. Several people asked about Edith’s murder and enquired about Stan’s health, which was to be expected Granny supposed given that the murder was the hot topic at the moment.
Granny had simply smiled and nodded, giving away as little information as possible. She now regarded herself a part of the investigation into Edith’s death, and she didn’t want to offer any details that could get back to the killer.
Granny reached Sheila’s house and paused for a moment to admire the neat garden. The roses were in full bloom with an under planting of Forget-Me-Nots, Marigolds and Nicotinas. There was a small lawn, the grass kept low and well watered so that it was a lush green, unlike most of the other gardens in the street which had not done so well during the recent dry spell and were starting to resemble a sepia photograph.
Granny made her way up the path, delighting in the floral scents, and knocked on the front door.
Sheila answered, and initially a look of surprise crossed her face but then she smiled and stood aside.
‘Granny,’ she said. ‘Come in. Come in.’
‘I came to confirm I’d be attending the wedding,’ Granny said and held the RSVP slip up. ‘I’m looking forward to it. Between me and you it will be a good excuse to get a new frock.’
‘Good,’ Sheila said as she led Granny down the small hallway to the rear of the house. ‘I’m starting to get nervous. I feel almost like a teenager again.’
‘It’ll be fine,’ Granny said. ‘I remember my wedding and how I felt before the big day. I think I sweated away two stone.’
Sheila smiled but winced at the mental image that threw up. They reached the kitchen where Nigel sat at the table and opposite him was a rather attractive young woman.
This would be Natalie, Granny thought. The woman was in her mid Twenties with neat flowing black hair. She had a wonderful smooth complexion and the most vivid emerald eyes Granny had ever seen. The woman was dressed rather smartly in a skirt and blouse, which showed off the curves of a very good figure.
‘Oh you haven’t met Natalie,’ Sheila said as she switched the kettle on. ‘Granny this is Natalie, Nigel’s daughter.’
‘Pleased to meet you,’ Granny said.
‘Charmed,’ the young woman said and delicately chewed on a piece of toast. She seemed bored with proceedings and Granny didn’t blame her. It couldn’t have been much fun for a young one like this to be surrounded by middle aged fuddy-duddies.’
‘I hear you’re a nurse in London,’ Granny said.
Natalie nodded, crossed her legs and took a cigarette from the packet on the table. She lit it and blew the smoke toward the ceiling.
‘Yes,’ she said, bluntly.
‘What hospital do you work in?’ Granny asked, not that she knew of that many London hospitals, but it was something to say.
‘I don’t,’ Natalie said. ‘I work for a private concern. Nursing homes, that kind of thing.’
‘Then this must feel like work to you, a proper busman’s holiday,’ Granny said with a smile. ‘Sitting around chatting to us old ‘uns.’
Natalie smiled but the gesture failed to reach her eyes.
Sensing the conversation was about to die, Nigel looked at Granny and smiled.
‘I enjoyed those cakes,’ he said.
The Welsh-Cakes, Granny had forgotten about those. The village fete had only been a few days ago but in light of all that had happened it seemed longer, much longer.
‘Granny’s famous for her baking,’ Sheila said and placed a cup of tea on the table before Granny.
‘If you’ll excuse me,’ Natalie said, standing up. ‘I have to be leaving. I want to get to London by early evening.’
‘The trains are pretty regular from Cardiff,’ Granny said. ‘Take a few hours is all.’
‘I’m driving,’ Natalie said and left the kitchen.
Granny’s eyes followed the young women as she left. There was an air of superiority about her and the old woman didn’t think that at all surprising. Her being a nurse and having a father who was a solicitor, that kind of attitude must have come natural to her. Granny wondered what it was her mother, the late Mrs Charlton, had done for a living. Had she, like her husband, had some highflying job or had she been a housewife devoted to her husband and daughter? Whatever, Granny guessed it likely that the girl had been brought up in an upper middle class household, possibly with the odd servant, or at the very least a cleaning lady, and had inherited that way of looking down her nose at people from her parents and peers. Still her father didn’t seem at all like that, on the contrary he was all charm. Though admittedly Granny sensed a lot of it was false.
‘I’ll just see her out,’ Nigel said and stood, leaving Granny and Sheila alone.
‘She seems nice,’ Granny said.
Sheila looked rather glum and she came and sat opposite Granny. She cast a glance over her shoulder before speaking.
‘Do you really think so?’ she asked.
Granny was surprised and not at all sure what Sheila meant.
‘Well yes, ‘ she said. ‘A very beautiful and intelligent woman.’
‘I suppose so it’s just that, ‘ Sheila’s words seemed to become lodged in her throat and then she shook her head and smiled. ‘No, I’m being silly is all. Wedding nerves I suppose.’
‘You don’t like her?’
‘No it’s not that,’ Sheila said. ‘I don’t really know her but things just seem odd when she’s here.’
‘In what way?’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ at that moment Sheila truly looked troubled. ‘I know she’s Nigel’s daughter and she’ll soon be my stepdaughter but... well things just don’t feel right when she’s around. It’s not something I can put my finger on. I just feel like there’s something wrong. Something strange.’
Granny looked at Sheila for several moments before speaking. She could see Sheila was troubled and the old woman wondered if it was anything to do with eleventh hour nerves. This would be the first time Sheila had been married and she was hardly a spring chicken and although Granny didn’t know her exact age she guessed that she was not that much younger than her own seventy one years, which would put her somewhere around her mid-Fifties. And that, by any standards, was quite a vintage to be embarking on marriage for the first time.
‘Pre wedding jitters,’ Granny said.
‘Yes,’ Sheila said. ‘That’ll be it.’
Granny didn’t think Sheila looked convinced though but she said nothing more on the subject. She couldn’t help noticing that Nigel was taking a long time saying goodbye to his daughter.
‘I’ll have to be leaving myself,’ Granny said and drained her tea.
‘Yes,’ Sheila smiled but that troubled look remained in her eyes. ‘I’ll show you out.’
There was something odd about Nigel Charlton and that daughter of his, Granny had decided and as she walked back home, she found herself more and more convinced that Nigel was in some way involved in Edith’s murder. The old woman had no real proof, only that Stan had said Edith seemed preoccupied and had acted like she’d seen a ghost when they’d come across Nigel and Sheila at the village fete.
There was a feeling deep within her stomach that Granny just couldn’t shake.
There was no use going to the police with what were, after all, nothing more than unfounded suspicions. Chief Inspector Miskin would just laugh at her and she couldn’t see what help Dai Twice could be to her.
No Granny had to go at it, in best amateur detective fashion, without any police involvement at all.
But what though, the old woman wondered, could she do?
She had to keep an eye on that Nigel Charlton, Granny decided and it wasn’t only because of Edith’s murder and his possible involvement, but for Sheila’s sake. Even if it turned out that Nigel had nothing to do with Edith’s murder, that it had
been a random attack by some wheel thingy wielding maniac, the old woman was convinced there was some ulterior motive behind the man’s desire to wed Sheila. And that, even without the murder, was enough to investigate.
They seemed such an ill-matched pair, and Granny had convinced herself that Nigel was somehow on the make, that there had to be a reason other than love behind the marriage. Sheila had no money to speak off and Nigel didn’t look to be in need of a bob or two, but all the same there was something not quite right about all this. That daughter of his had been a strange one, coming across as cold, aloof, conniving and not at all likeable. Granny had seen something behind those emerald eyes, and she felt that Sheila was quite right to feel uneasy.
Surveillance, Granny thought.
She’d place Nigel Charlton under constant surveillance. That’s how they did it in the detective novels, she often read.
Suddenly Granny developed a spring in her step as she realised just how she would do it.
Twelve
‘They’re going to release the body,’ Arthur told Granny as soon as she came through the door. ‘The police have been around, told Stan he can start to make the funeral arrangements.’
‘Well that’s something at least,’ she smiled to herself, satisfied that the discovery of the murder weapon had given the police a change of heart surrounding Stan’s involvement in his wife’s murder. The fact that they have finally released the body must indicate that, surely.
‘At least Stan can put her to rest,’ Arthur said. ‘It’s only then that he can truly start to rebuild his life.’
‘Yes,’ Granny nodded, preoccupied. ‘Where is Stan?’ she had expected to find him here. At the moment he didn’t seem comfortable in his own home which was understandable.’
‘He’s gone to stay with his sister in Ponty until the funeral,’ Arthur said. ‘The police were very helpful and arranged for a car to take him over.’