Granny Smith Investigates: The little old lady who solves crime

by G. M. Dobbs

  ‘That’s good,’ Granny said, thinking it was the least the police could do.

  ‘Want a cup of tea?’ Arthur asked and turned for the kitchen.

  ‘No,’ Granny stopped him in his tracks. ‘I’m not staying. I’m going back out.’

  ‘You just got in.’

  ‘I need my bicycle,’ Granny said. ‘Any my phone.’

  ‘Well, where are you going?’

  ‘I can’t tell you. Not yet but I want you to do something for me.’ Granny went into the kitchen and grabbed her phone from the table. She examined it and found that she had fourteen missed calls. Still, couldn’t be important, she thought and she cleared the screen and popped the phone into the pocket of her body warmer.

  Arthur sighed. All these years of marriage, he thought and still he couldn’t understand or predict anything his wife did.

  He followed her into the kitchen.

  ‘Go on then,’ Arthur said, feeling he was going to regret it.

  ‘I want you to arrange a house meeting,’ Granny said. ‘Here at six tonight but only certain people to come.’

  ‘A meeting about what?’

  ‘I’ll explain later,’ Granny said. She’d already worked all this out in her mind on the way home from Sheila’s and she’d decided that six people would be enough.

  ‘I wish you would,’ Arthur grumbled.

  ‘Make sure Gerald and Leanne are here. And rope in Maud and Mr Patel, together with us two that makes six. Six should be enough.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘I’ll explain at the meeting.’

  ‘I can’t just drag everyone around her with no explanation.’

  ‘Just tell them.’

  ‘And what do I tell them?’

  ‘Tell them anything,’ Granny said. ‘I’ll explain it all later. Now I’ve got to go if I’m to be back in time.’

  Arthur said nothing and watched as his wife disappeared out back in search of her bicycle.

  It had been a while since Granny had cycled, and the hills were a bit of a grind and made her legs ache. But she breathed deeply, pushing on and told herself that not only was she doing something useful but also she was keeping herself fit, which was always wise at her age. Nevertheless she was glad when she came to a downhill section of her journey and she sat back and allowed gravity to do its thing.

  Coronation Road was almost half a mile long and Granny whizzed down in a couple of minutes, knowing it would take her considerably longer to cycle back up on the return journey but trying not to think about it. At the bottom she cycled for another quarter of a mile on flat roads, before turning left into the country lane.

  Shadwell’s farm, her destination, was now only ten minutes or so away and Granny enjoyed the gentle ride along the lane, marvelling at the beauty of the landscape around her. When one lived in an area it was so seldom one noticed the beauty around one. If you saw something around you day in and day out it was easy to take it for granted, and not really notice it but at the moment Granny thought the green of the mountains was particularly lush, the colour of the foliage exceptionally vibrant and the sky above seemed to be saturated.

  She reached Shadwell’s farm and turned into the yard, carefully steering around the hound that was straining at its leash to get to her.

  ‘Shadwell,’ Granny shouted. ‘Hello, anyone home?’

  Granny got off her bicycle and leaned it against a dry-stone wall and took her pipe from her pocket. She filled the bowl and took a match to it, smoking while she waited for Shadwell to show from wherever he was. He had to be around somewhere and the barking of his hound was sure to bring him soon.

  ‘Hello Granny,’ Shadwell said as he came out of a barn. He was rubbing his hands in an old rag.

  ‘Shwmae, Shadwell,’ Granny replied through a mouthful of smoke. ‘How are you keeping?’

  ‘Shouldn’t complain so I won’t,’ Shadwell said.

  Granny smiled, thinking it will be a first if you don’t.

  ‘No money in farming these days,’ Shadwell went onto complain. ‘I’ve been fixing me old tractor for the umpteenth time. Need a new one really but I’ll never afford one. And besides at my time of life I’m loath to spend good money on anything new. Can’t say I’ll be here long enough to get much use out of it.’

  ‘Go away, Shadwell. You’ll outlive us all, you will.’

  Shadwell smiled, revealing his one tooth.

  ‘Now what is it you want, Granny?’

  ‘CB radios,’ Granny said.

  Shadwell rubbed his chin. ‘Not much call for those these days.’

  ‘Have you got any?’ Granny asked. Back in the day Shadwell had run the Gilfach Breakers Association. Granny herself had been a CB enthusiast a couple of decades ago, and after getting Arthur to fit a set in the Vauxhall Viva had attended many of Shadwell’s meetings. There had been quite a community of CB users in those long gone days and Shadwell had organised trips all over the country to meet with other CB clubs.

  ‘I think I might have a few around here,’ Shadwell said. ‘But I don’t think there’s anyone on the air these days, well except for the odd taxi firm that is.’

  ‘I don’t want to go modulating,’ Granny said, using the old code word for chitchat. ‘I want them for a personal project. I’ll only need them for a week or so.’

  Shadwell regarded Granny for a moment, a suspicious look in his eyes. He was no doubt wondering if old CB sets had suddenly become valuable without him knowing about it.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, presently. ‘Let’s take a look in my workshop.’

  Shadwell’s workshop was at the back of the large barn and Granny followed him through. She looked around while he rummaged in the back of an old kitchen cupboard that was filled to overflowing with long forgotten junk. Granny counted over twelve microwave ovens stacked in a pile against the rear wall, and next to them was an old radiogram and a stack of LP records. She could see several of the covers and she smiled as she noticed a Shaking Stevens album – back in the day Granny had loved old Shakey. There were tools of all shapes and sizes everywhere – spades, hammers, rakes and others that the old woman couldn’t identify. Her eyes fell on a wooden clotheshorse and she wondered what Shadwell would want for it, as she could certainly find a use for it.

  ‘I knew I had some,’ Shadwell said and bumped the back of his head as he emerged from the cupboard. In his hands he held five CB walkie- talkie radios. ‘Handsets,’ he said.

  It was better than Granny could have hoped for. Walkie-talkies would be much easier than mobile sets, which would have had to be fitted in vehicles. These would make everything much simpler.

  ‘Will they work?’ she asked.

  Need charging,’ Shadwell said ‘You can plug them into the mains for that but I see no reason why they won’t.’

  ‘They’ll be great,’ Granny said and reached out for the radios.

  Shadwell held them to his chest.

  ‘A week, you said?’

  Granny nodded.

  ‘Call it twenty five quid then.’

  ‘We’ll call it a favour,’ Granny said and snatched one of the radios from Shadwell. ‘Don’t forget who brought you a cooked meal every day when you broke your ankle last year, and upon whose sofa you’ve slept no end of times after getting rat arsed with Arthur and Stan in the Bull.’

  ‘The Bull,’ The Bullock’s Pride, which sat alongside the old railway line, was the finest pub in these parts. Many were the nights that Shadwell had happily spent downing pint after pint of thick Welsh beer within the flock-covered walls.

  Granny fiddled with the radio and was surprised to see it light up.

  ‘This one’s still got some power left in it,’ she said.

  ‘Aye,’ Shadwell said, now resigned to the fact that he wasn’t going to get any money in this deal.

  ‘Hello,’ Granny said, speaking into the radio’s microphone. ‘Testing, testing.’

  There was a burst of squelch noise and then:

  ‘Breaker
, Breaker. You’re bending my needle, good lady. You got Shotgun here. What’s your handle, good lady?’

  ‘Er. Legs Eleven,’ Granny said, suddenly remembering her old CB name, or handle as they called it.

  ‘Pleased to meet you Legs Eleven,’ came the reply. ‘What’s your twenty, good lady? I’m stuck high on the old sugarloaf and coming at you loud and proud.’

  ‘Got to go ten ten, good buddy,’ Granny said, amazed at how quickly the CB-speak came back to her, and switched the radio off. It was quite ridiculous really, she thought as she recalled all the hours she’d once spent chatting on the citizen band radios.

  Shadwell tried the other two radios but they were completely drained of power.

  ‘Charge them and they’ll be as good as new,’ he said and handed them over and then led the way out of the barn. ‘What do you want them for?’

  ‘Neighbourhood watch,’ Granny said, quick as a flash. Which was in a sense quite true.

  Shadwell had also loaned Granny an old rucksack in which to carry the radio sets and as she prepared to cycle back up Coronation Road, Granny adjusted the shoulder straps on the bag as it began to cut into her shoulders. The fact that she also had the clotheshorse she had fancied tied to her back made cycling all the more difficult.

  She hit the hill and immediately found her handlebars turning sideways as she struggled to pedal. It was no good and eventually she had to get off and walk the bicycle up the hill.

  At the top things became much easier and Granny jumped back on and started off across the flat. She decided against going straight home and felt that she would ride past Sheila’s house.

  With the cycle it wouldn’t take her that long to go that way and then double back home. And besides it was not yet five so she had plenty of time before the meeting. Now that the hills were behind her, Granny had a new wind and she felt fresh and really didn’t feel like going home just yet. It was a glorious afternoon and she was enjoying the bicycle ride.

  Thirteen

  Police.

  There was a patrol car parked outside Sheila’s house and Granny could see Nigel Charlton standing in the front drive with two uniformed officers and a man in plain clothes. She recognised the plain clothed man as Chief Inspector Miskin and from what she could see he was chatting quite happily to Nigel. They hadn’t seen Granny and so she dismounted the bicycle and wheeled it to the corner of the next street where she could watch what was happening whilst remaining unobserved. She didn’t want to see the chief inspector at the moment, as she didn’t know how she would explain the clotheshorse strapped to her back and the radios in the rucksack.

  Granny couldn’t hear a word they were saying, but judging from the way they we gesturing they seemed to be talking about Nigel’s vehicle which was parked, gleaming, in the drive. The car, a metallic blue range rover was this years model with a powerful V8 engine and a far more streamlined body shape than was usual for the model.

  Granny knew her cars and she had to admit this was a nice piece of kit, very nice, but she couldn’t see why Miskin should be so fascinated with it.

  Unless...

  The penny suddenly dropped.

  Unless the wheel thingy she and Twice had found had been used to kill Edith, and had come from the range rover. Maybe everything was falling into place and the police would now arrest Nigel, charge him with the murder. The fact that the old woman didn’t really know for certain if it was indeed the murder weapon she and Twice had found didn’t deter her from this line of thought.

  She waited until she saw the inspector shake hands with Nigel and then turn away. She guessed he would be heading for the police station and if she was quick she could cycle down the side street and cut them off at the junction, have a word with Miskin and see what was happening with the case. She felt that she was entitled to know.

  After all if it were not for her they wouldn’t have the murder weapon.

  Granny jumped on her bicycle and peddled furiously down the side street that ran parallel to the main road and as she reached the junction she saw the police cars coming towards her. She quickly cycled out into the middle of the road and held out her arms to stop them.

  The police cars skidded to a stop and Miskin hung his head out of the passenger window of the front vehicle.

  ‘It’s Miss Marple on steroids,’ he said.

  ‘You’ve already said that once,’ Granny told him. ‘It wasn’t funny the first time and it doesn’t improve with age.’

  Miskin smiled.

  ‘May I ask why you’re causing an obstruction?’ he asked. He didn’t bother asking why she should have a clotheshorse strapped to her back as he assumed it would complicate things further.

  Granny peddled the bike and pulled up level with Miskin’s window. She placed a foot on the road so as not to fall over.

  ‘I saw you at Sheila’s.’ she said.

  ‘That would be Mr Charlton’s fiancé,’ Miskin replied. ‘You don’t miss much.’

  ‘Well?’ Granny leaned forward, conspiratorially.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘What did he have to say for himself?’ Granny asked.

  ‘Just a routine chat,’ Miskin said. ‘Mr Charlton is not under any suspicion.’

  ‘But the wheel thingy,’ Granny almost yelped. ‘Was it his?’

  Miskin frowned.

  ‘No it was not,’ he said. ‘It didn’t come from his vehicle which hasn’t been moved from the drive for the best part of a week. We can tell these things, you know.’

  Now it was Granny’s turn to frown. She had been so sure her discovery would tie Nigel to the murder.

  ‘Was it the murder weapon, though?’ Granny asked, suddenly remembering that she had taken it for granted that it was.

  ‘I don’t see why I’m telling you this,’ Miskin said, ‘but yes it was the murder weapon.’

  ‘What about fingerprints and DNA?’ Granny asked

  ‘There were no fingerprints, at least none we could lift.’

  ‘No fingerprints,’ Granny mumbled, thoughtfully. Maybe the killer had wiped it after use, but then why just toss it away into the undergrowth? The fact that the killer had disposed of the weapon so carelessly suggested panic and if the killer had been of enough mind to wipe the weapon clean of prints then surely equal care should have been taken with getting rid of the weapon.

  ‘Gloves,’ Granny said. ‘The killer wore gloves.’

  ‘I suggest you stay away from Mr Charlton and allow us to do our job.’ Miskin said and this time his tone was firm, official. ‘Stay out of police business,’ he warned. ‘ If I catch you snooping around again I’ll arrest you.’

  ‘On what charge?’ Granny asked, defiantly.

  ‘Impersonating Miss Marple,’ Miskin said and closed his window.

  With that the police cars pulled off, leaving Granny in the road. The old woman watched the cars go down the road for several moments before shrugging her shoulders and setting back off for home, and the commencement of what she was already thinking of as, Operation Eagle Eye.

  Nigel ran a hand through his hair, as was his habit when he felt tense.

  The visit by the police had shaken him up somewhat. They had told him that it was routine, and that they were talking to everyone who had been at the village fete on the day the old woman was murdered. But that chief inspector, a gruff man, had seemed overly interested in the range rover, asking to see in the boot and taking more than a cursory look at the interior of the vehicle.

  What had they been looking for?

  What had they expected to find?

  Nigel knew nothing of the murder but all the same a worrying thought was forming in his mind.

  He was standing in the kitchen and he went and closed the door so that Sheila, who was doing something upstairs, wouldn’t hear him when he used the phone. He smiled when he heard the sound of the cleaner come on. It would drown out any sound he made.

  He went and stood by the window and pulled his phone from his pocket and quickly scanned f
or Natalie’s number. He thumbed the button and waited for her to answer.

  ‘Hello,’ came the cheerful voice on the other end. ‘I didn’t expect you to call so soon. Missing me already?’

  ‘The police have been around,’ Nigel said, bluntly.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘That old woman who was killed.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well that was it really. They said it was routine and that they were talking to everyone.’

  ‘Maybe they were.’

  ‘I don’t think so. Something didn’t seem right.’

  ‘You think the police have decided you did it?’

  ‘Of course not, but I hope you don’t know anything about it.’

  ‘Why would I?’

  ‘That woman you told me about last week?’

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘Was she the woman who was killed?’ Nigel asked and his heart skipped a beat as he dreaded the answer.

  Silence for a moment and then:

  ‘I don’t know. I knew some old bat had been murdered in the village but I didn’t know her name. How am I to know if it’s the same woman? All those yokels looks alike to me.’

  ‘Nat,’ he said. ‘Why do I get the feeling you are not being honest with me?’

  ‘ Because you’re suspicious by nature, always have been. It’s what I love about you.’

  It didn’t sound right to Nigel and he was starting to think that things had taken a turn he hadn’t prepared for, that a random and messy element had been introduced into his carefully laid plans.

  ‘I don’t like where this is going, ‘ he said.

  ‘You’re just worrying needlessly.’

  Nigel knew Natalie inside out and there was something in her voice that told him she wasn’t telling the truth.

  ‘I’ll need to see you,’ he said. ‘I’ll make excuses and come down to London in the morning.’

  ‘I look forward to it,’ teasing, almost seductive and then nothing but dead air as she disconnected the call.