A Fool and His Money

by Marina Pascoe

‘She hasn’t been here as long as most of us and she didn’t seem to fit in as well as the rest of us. I always thought it was because of her husband – terrified of him, she was. Good job you caught him, Mr Bartlett. But …’

  ‘But what, Mr Wayland?’

  ‘Well, she did say she had a friend who worked at the Picturedrome in Redruth. I think it was a local girl she’d met a few years ago when she was on holiday. She said she wanted to see her while she was in Falmouth because when we leave here she might never come back.’

  ‘Do you know the name of this friend?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t think she said.’

  ‘Another thing, Mr Wayland – did you see or hear anything when Anne was attacked? Did you see anyone near the Warner caravan?’

  ‘I’m just trying to think. Wait a minute. Pearl came out to the gate – she was waiting for a meat delivery, food for the lions. The delivery was late, so she walked up to the road – she thought the driver might be lost. She came back after about twenty minutes, she said she was a bit cold standing waiting and needed a cardigan. I said I’d go up and wait instead. I walked just over there – look.’

  Wayland was pointing to a spot just opposite the Warner caravan and about twenty yards from it. Bartlett looked to where he was pointing.

  ‘So you were quite close?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Please think, sir. Did you see anyone?’

  Wayland contorted his face and scratched his head. Boase sighed as the man closed his eyes.

  ‘Wait a minute. Yes. Yes – I saw Molly James. She was wearing a headscarf and a raincoat. She was coming out of the Warner caravan.’

  ‘Mr Wayland, this may be very important – are you absolutely sure?’

  ‘Yes, I am, because Pearl saw her from the window. When I came back with the meat she was furious because she had just bought the exact same headscarf and said she wouldn’t be able to wear it now that Molly had an identical one. Yes, that’s it, that’s who I saw. I came back, left the meat and that’s when I saw you and Constable Boase come to the caravan.’

  ‘You’ve been very helpful, thank you. Tell your wife we’ll need to speak to her.’

  Boase reappeared from the other side of the caravan.

  ‘Mr Wayland here has just been telling me that Molly has left.’

  Boase sat down on the step of the caravan and sighed, his shoulders slumped.

  Wayland made to move.

  ‘Sorry, Mr Bartlett – I need to be getting on if you don’t mind.’

  ‘You carry on, sir – and thank you.’

  Boase stood up, dejected.

  ‘This is all my fault – how did I let this happen?’

  ‘We’re in this together, Boase. No recriminations – we just need to work this through. Wayland said she had a friend in Redruth, someone who works at the Picturedrome. We should head on over there as soon as we can.’

  Bartlett and Boase picked up two constables from the police station and made their way to Redruth to look for Molly James.

  ‘You know this is a long shot, sir – she may not even be in the county.’

  ‘Well, we have to hope our instinct is right this time. It’s got to be her who killed Anne, just has to be – it all fits.’

  The car drew up outside the Picturedrome which was closed. Bartlett peered through a window and saw a woman cleaning inside. He knocked on the glass and beckoned to her. She came over and opened the door.

  ‘What? There’s no pictures showin’ ’ere till tonight. You’ll ’ave to come back later.’

  ‘Madam …’

  As Bartlett spoke, the uniformed constables Eddy and Coad came alongside him.

  ‘Oh … you the police? Well, this is a respectable establishment – we don’t want no trouble ’ere.’

  ‘I would just like to speak to the proprietor, that’s all. This is an urgent police matter.’

  The woman held open the door and the four men entered. They found themselves in a large hall.

  ‘Wait ’ere.’

  The woman disappeared.

  Boase wandered around the hall looking at the posters advertising the latest films. He loved the cinema, especially going with Irene. Bartlett opened two or three doors leading off and quickly closed the last as the woman returned leading a tall, thin man. The man wore a silvery-grey suit which was too long in the arms and too short in the legs. Bartlett looked up at him as he approached.

  ‘I am George Jago. May I help you?’

  ‘Well, I hope you can, sir. I am investigating a murder …’

  ‘Is that the Falmouth murder? Or murders, I heard there were two?’

  ‘And what do you know about all this, sir, may I ask?’

  ‘Well, nothing other than what I read in the paper – what a terrible business! And what has this to do with me – why are you here?’

  ‘How many female staff do you have here at the moment?’

  ‘I can assure you none of my staff would be involved in something like that. Absolutely not.’

  ‘Please just answer the question – we’re in a terrible hurry.’

  ‘Oh. Let me see – well, there’s Dolly Simmons – she’s the cleaner you just met. Peggy Rowe, she helps with the films and screening and such like.’

  ‘How old is Peggy?’

  ‘I’d say fifty, maybe.’

  ‘Go on. Who else?’

  ‘Sarah Pollard. She runs the little refreshment kiosk.’

  ‘Age?’

  ‘She’s quite young – I think about twenty-seven or eight.’

  ‘Where does she live?’

  ‘I’ll have to check the staff records for that. Is she in trouble?’

  ‘We don’t think so but she may be able to help us. The address please?’

  George Jago walked across to a small office and Boase watched him as he rummaged through an old desk. He drew out a large book.

  ‘It’ll be in here. Shall I write it down for you?’

  ‘Yes please, sir.’

  Boase took the sheet of paper with the girl’s name and address and the police group left the Picturedrome.

  ‘What’s the name of the street, Boase?’

  ‘Um, Plain-an-Gwarry.’

  ‘Know where that is?’

  ‘I’m a Redruth boy, sir.’

  Arriving outside the house, Bartlett and Boase left the two constables standing by the car and went up the neat front path. Bartlett knocked at the door. Boase stepped back and looked up at the top windows. As he did so, the front door opened and a young woman stood there. Bartlett introduced himself.

  ‘Excuse me, miss. We were wondering if you were an acquaintance of Molly James?’

  ‘Molly? Yes, I am.’ The girl looked flustered.

  ‘Is she here, miss?’

  ‘She’s just left. She was here.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘I don’t know – why? What has she done?’

  Bartlett ignored the question. Meanwhile Boase had gone around the back of the house. As he went up to the kitchen door, a window opened upstairs and a small valise was thrown down, narrowly missing Boase. He looked up to see Molly James about to climb out after it.

  ‘Don’t be silly, just come down. We want to speak to you.’

  Soon, Bartlett and Boase were sitting in the parlour in Plain-an-Gwarry with Molly James.

  Bartlett looked at the woman, who was now crying.

  ‘Molly, tell us what happened with you and Anne Warner. We know you went to her caravan around the time she was killed; more than one person saw you.’

  Molly cried again.

  ‘She said Edward killed my father – she was telling everyone; and those two sisters of hers, they were saying it too.’

  ‘Molly, did you kill Anne?’

  ‘No. Of course I didn’t.’

  ‘We’ll find out, Molly. Tell us what happened. Were you angry with her for blaming Edward?’

  ‘Of course I was angry – but I didn’t kill her. And what do you mea
n, you’ll find out? You think you’ve found Edward out but you haven’t. He’s not a murderer.’

  ‘But he’s got a violent past, and you’re frightened of him.’

  ‘Yes, he’s got a bit of a temper – but who hasn’t? It doesn’t make us all murderers, does it?’

  Molly wiped her eyes.

  ‘You still need to find my father’s murderer, Inspector. It wasn’t Edward.’

  Bartlett felt uncomfortable. Molly was saying just what he himself thought, that Edward James hadn’t killed Clicker. But then who had?’

  ‘Molly, we’re taking you back to Falmouth, to the police station. We’ve got a lot of questions we want to ask you and it’s not an appropriate setting here. Get your things.’

  Arriving back at the station, Molly James was taken to a cell to await questioning. Bartlett hung up his coat and Boase made some tea.

  ‘This is getting worse, Boase. Molly is bound to stand by her husband, but I don’t believe it of him either.’

  ‘But Greet’s taken it out of our hands and he’s got cast-iron witnesses.’

  ‘So he says.’

  ‘Well, how can we go back now? The poor chap’s run out of time and the noose is looming closer. It’s a terrible business.’

  ‘Well, we’ll let Molly calm herself a bit before we speak to her. It looks bad for her, never mind Edward. What a nightmare this is turning into!’

  Bartlett lit his pipe. Boase always thought it was funny that he always did so when he was thinking.

  ‘Molly, tell us what happened when you went to Anne’s caravan.’

  ‘OK, I went to borrow some milk. Edward couldn’t have any tea and he was going mad. Anne invited me in and filled the jug. While I was waiting I saw the newspaper on the table. It had a story about my mother and that she had died seven years ago. I felt awkward but, not only that, I knew then that Anne must have told my father that my mother was dead. But I didn’t kill her.’

  ‘But that was the first time you went there. I’m talking about the day she died – you were seen leaving the caravan.

  ‘I wasn’t there, I swear I wasn’t.’

  ‘We have more than one reliable witness, Molly.’

  ‘I don’t care. I didn’t kill her.’

  ‘Did you see anyone else when you were there?’

  ‘No, because I wasn’t there. Stop trying to trick me!’

  ‘Did your husband know that Margaret Field was dead?’

  ‘Yes. He said I shouldn’t be asking my father for money all the time, but I needed it. Ed’s a drinker and we never have enough money – my father could afford it.’

  ‘No, he couldn’t really – he always gave you his last.’

  ‘I suppose the little fool, Anne Warner, told you that?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter who told me, it’s a fact.’

  ‘Look, I found out that Anne knew, that’s all. I never even said anything to her. She must have told my father that my mother was dead – the silly old man probably killed himself.’

  ‘What makes you say that, when you know he was shot through the head?’

  ‘I don’t know but it wasn’t Ed – why would he do such a thing?’

  ‘Because Clicker was going to stop the money?’

  ‘You’re wrong, I tell you, you’re wrong – Ed wasn’t interested in the money.’

  Bartlett and Boase left Molly in her cell and asked Penhaligon to take her some tea.

  ‘Edward James wants to see me, Boase. Says he can explain more about Clicker.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Well, his trial is next week – the least I can do is to see what he has to say. You know how uneasy I am about all this.’

  ‘You and me both, sir. But he’s up at Bodmin. Do you want me to come with you?’

  ‘No – he asked for me. I’ll let you know what he says. How about you come over to us for supper this evening? Caroline said she’d like to see you again – and you know Irene would.’

  ‘Thank you – that would be very nice.’

  ‘Righto. I’m going to see James now. Lord only knows what this is about. I don’t know what time I’ll be back – oh, tell Greet you haven’t seen me.’

  Bartlett sat in the cell with Edward James. The man looked thin and pale and had an unkempt beard.

  ‘Are they treating you all right?’

  ‘Well, look at me.’

  ‘What did you want to see me about?’

  ‘They’re going to hang me, Mr Bartlett. I know it.’

  ‘You don’t know that. Tell me what you want to say.’

  ‘I didn’t kill my father-in-law.’

  ‘But what about the witness statements? At least one woman saw you. And your gun was damning evidence.’

  ‘I did go there that evening after the show.’

  Bartlett stood up and scratched his head.

  ‘Why didn’t you say so before? What were you doing there?’

  ‘Clicker was upset – he said he knew me and Molly were swindling him out of his money – he’d found out somehow. I told him it wasn’t me – that it was all Molly’s idea and I’d been trying to stop her. I thought she was wrong.’

  ‘So, what happened?’

  ‘I saw him leave the recreation ground and head towards the seafront. I followed him. He was ever so shaken. I just wanted him to come back. I said we could sort it out – there was no point in getting upset.’

  ‘I can see why he would be, Mr James. Did you have your gun?’

  ‘No. No I didn’t. I saw him go up the place they call Hunter’s Path. I asked him to come back but he wouldn’t – he told me to leave him alone. I went for a walk along the beach, then I came back and went to bed.’

  ‘Well, my advice to you is to tell your solicitor what you’ve told me and to speak up at your trial.’

  ‘No one will believe me, Mr Bartlett – you must see that. I just wanted you to know that I’m not long for this world. And that I didn’t kill anyone.’

  Edward James buried his head in his hands and sobbed.

  Bartlett patted the man’s shoulder.

  ‘Please, Edward, you must tell them what you’ve told me. If this is all true there may be a chance for you. Please tell them.’

  ‘Thanks for coming, Mr Bartlett. I really appreciate it. Maybe when I’m gone they’ll catch whoever did this.’

  Edward James offered out his hand to Bartlett who took it in both of his and shook it.

  ‘Goodbye, Mr Bartlett.’

  ‘Goodbye, Edward.’

  ‘Tell Molly I love her.’

  Boase sat in the parlour with Caroline and Irene. He looked at the clock. It was half past eight.

  ‘I thought Dad would be home from Bodmin by now, Mum.’

  ‘Yes, so did I, dear – he’s obviously been delayed. He said he had something very important to deal with. I suppose he’ll be back soon. Archie, would you like another piece of cake?’

  ‘No, thank you. It was lovely, but I’ve had plenty.’

  Boase couldn’t feel hungry. Here he was with the love of his life – there was nowhere he’d rather be – yet he was uncomfortable. He was feeling for Bartlett; he knew the older man didn’t really want to see Edward James but was a man of his word and always ready to help anyone if he could.

  At half past nine, with still no sign of his boss, Boase left for home. He had offered to stay with Caroline and Irene but they wouldn’t hear of it and, besides, they thought he looked tired. Boase took a walk along the seafront and turned over the recent events in his mind. Who killed Clicker? Bartlett didn’t think Greet was looking in the right direction and Boase himself didn’t know what to think. And what of Anne Warner? That was a shocking business. Did Edward kill her – or was it really Molly? Yes, what a fine kettle of fish this was turning out to be.

  Boase sat on the sand until about eleven o’clock then, suddenly realising he was tired and hungry, he walked back up to his room in Melvill Road.

  Bartlett and Boase with Constables Eddy and
Rabone returned to the recreation ground. Bartlett had tossed and turned all night, agonising over Molly James. She had a very good motive but without firm evidence, well, they could do nothing. The sun had broken through after a morning of rain as the four arrived. Bartlett gave his instructions, clearly.

  ‘I’m certain there must be something here to incriminate that woman. The very crime scene is yards from where we are standing – she must have left a clue. You have to use your wits and everything you have in you to help me here.’

  Constable Eddy spoke.

  ‘But what if your hunch is wrong, sir? What if it’s not her?’

  ‘Well, yes, I could be wrong – but someone did it. And someone must have left some evidence, a clue to who they are. Right, do your best all. Please do your best. Eddy, you come with me. Rabone, you go with Boase. Remember I took the precaution of clearing this with the big cheese – search if you need to. Happy hunting.’

  Two hours passed and the four met up again. Boase looked disgruntled.

  ‘Sir, there’s nothing here. We’ve spoken to people again, searched everywhere.’

  Bartlett rummaged in his pocket for a match.

  ‘Searched all the hedges around the ground?’

  Rabone nodded.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Bet you haven’t looked in there.’

  Bartlett indicated to the lion enclosure.

  Rabone swallowed.

  ‘No. No, sir, we haven’t.’

  ‘Well, neither have we, have we Eddy? Come on then.’

  The four walked towards the lion enclosure, Rabone and Eddy lagging behind nervously. Bartlett turned and looked behind him.

  ‘Come on you clots – you don’t think you could go in there unsupervised do you? You should see your faces. I wouldn’t let you just wander in there, would I?’

  Now it was Boase’s turn to look a little pale as they walked alongside a large pile of dung which looked like it had been left there for some time.

  ‘Wonder what they do with that lot, Boase? Don’t suppose they can easily dispose of it.’

  ‘You should take some for your roses, sir.’

  ‘That’s an idea, Boase. Well done.’

  ‘Sir, I was joking.’

  ‘No – that’s a sound idea, my boy. I don’t know about roses but they say it’s good to keep cats off the garden.’

  ‘But you’ve got Topper for that, sir.’